Against The Machine
by TStabler
Summary: Emotions are often things we can't control. We can't choose who we love & trust. We don't command our jealousy & pride. And we absolutely can't control rage or our actions when we're feeling it. Detective Elliot Stabler is battling demons & he needs his partner, Olivia Benson, to help him fight them & win before his uncontrollable rage costs him everything, including his life.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Some of those that work forces are the same that burn crosses - Killing in the Name (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, some characters are much younger than canonically written, and it's set very early in the history of the show. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

She's seen him like this before, too often for her liking, but it's the first time she's watched the fallout from start to finish. The first time she hasn't been able to bring him down before he did serious damage, or before the captain found out. She leans against the open door's frame, crosses her arms, tries not to moan at the sight before her. His body is eerily similar to one she'd seen in a college textbook of hers, an art history class she'd taken simply to fill a few credits. Chiseled. Made of stone. Perfect. She brings one hand up to smooth over her chin as the other cups her elbow, and she props one foot up against the molding to keep her balance. She's shaking, and she knows why.

He doesn't know she's there. He has no idea she's watching him. He exhales through a small O in his pursed lips as he pushes himself up, inhales through his nose as he lowers himself down again. He blinks as beads of sweat roll down from his forehead and sting his eyes. The only thing on his mind is how angry he still is, how the festering pool of frustration and agony is about to bubble over, and almost did, onto the one person in his life who doesn't deserve it.

She takes a silent breath as she pulls on the cuffs of her baby blue sweater, her lower lip finds itself wedged between her teeth, and she can't tear her eyes away from him as he moves. His bare back is carved like marble, she can see every muscle twitch and twist as the pace of his push-ups quickens. She sees the sheen of sweat glistening in the fluorescent locker room lights, and it takes every iota of willpower she has to stay where she is and not run to him and lick it all away. There are darkened spots on his heather grey sweats that tell her his lower body is getting just as much of a workout, and she squeezes her eyes shut in an attempt to not envision herself naked beneath him at this moment.

He hears a small thud from behind him and he burpees himself upright. He turns sharply, and when his eyes land on her, he smirks. He reaches over to a shabby wooden bench, grabs a white cotton towel, and rubs it over his face, ridding it of sweat and fury. "How long have you been standing there?"

She swallows forcefully, her arms still crossed tightly, and she shrugs. "Long enough," she says, and the inside of her cheek takes the abuse of her anxiety. "Are you okay?"

He lets out a petulant laugh, sliding the towel down his face and neck again. "No," he says bluntly, and the smirk on his face is the one he gets when he's about to tell a perp he's under arrest. "Not really."

Her eyes dart to his chest, and it's just as godly as the rest of him. She watches it rise and fall with his heavy breathing, follows a droplet of sweat down his pec and over his nipple and she has to consciously remind herself to inhale. "Um," she swallows again, tucks a wave of dark hair behind her ear. "Do you, uh...do you…"

"No," he bites. He tosses the towel over his shoulder, shaking his head and giving a downturned pout. "I don't wanna talk about it," he says, and he leans over to the bench again to grab his discarded tee shirt and hoodie. "I'm gonna ask you again," he whips his head toward her and there's a darkness in her eyes that he can't hide. "How long were you standing there...watching me?"

One of her eyebrows climbs higher of its own volition, her hands drop to her sides, and her thumbs hook themselves through the belt loops of her dark denim jeans as she huffs. It's her defensive stance, her version of _deer in headlights_. "I wasn't watching you, you egotistical son of a bitch, I was worried about you," she spits at him, lying and telling the truth at the same time. She juts a hand over her shoulder and angles her body away from his. "What was that, back there?"

He shakes his head again, sniffs loudly, and clears his throat as he unfurls his tee-shirt. "What was what?" Though he knows damn well _what_ because he broke a promise he made to himself and to his partner a long time ago, and it's part of the reason he's experiencing an insufferable amount of rage, right now.

"Munch has been on the phone with HR for half an hour trying to get us a new filing cabinet," she starts, "Langan is coming up with a list of fucking motions he plans to file because you flew off the handle and broke his client's arm, and do you know what I had to say to Cragen to keep him from suspending you?" She narrows her eyes and blinks once, but when she opens her eyes she freezes. She watches him pull on his tee-shirt, the fabric clings to his still-damp body, and she hopes to God he can't tell how turned on she is by just looking at her.

"You didn't have to say anything to him," he counters, his lips curling into a smile that falls somewhere between vindictive and seductive. "I didn't ask you to…"

"Ask me to…" she scoffs at him disbelievingly, taking a dangerous step in his direction. "You didn't have to fucking ask me, I am your partner! Saving your ass is part of the job description!"

"But running down here and staring at me for the last twenty minutes isn't," he cocks his head to the left, his unreadable smile in place. "Couldn't have just said something the minute you came into the room, you just…" he chuckles once and thrusts out a dismissive hand. "Stood there?"

She doesn't understand how or why he lets himself turn into such a dick when he's angry but she's fairly sure she knows him well enough to not take it personally. She rolls her eyes and says, "I know better than to try to talk to you when you're in Hulk Mode." She takes a solid look at him, her eyes traveling the entire topography of his body, and she presses her lips together before she says, "Make sure you calm the fuck down before you leave." She drags her eyes up to meet his. "Don't bring the asshole home to Kathy."

Her words feel like a slap in the face, he flinches as though he could genuinely feel the pain of her palm swiping at his cheek. "I'm not…" he lets out a deep, trembling breath. "I'm not going home to Kathy."

She gives him a dismissive snort, not letting herself do the hopeful leap she so desperately wants to do at hearing him say that. "Great," she exhales with a half nod. "Then I'm the lucky one that gets to see this side of you." It registers then, the hurt in his eyes, and she licks her lips as she takes one more solid step toward him. "There was a lot of blood…" she reaches for his left hand, curling her fingers around his wrist and lifting it up to get a better view of it. "You should...you need ice, or…"

He rips his hand away from her, for no other reason than her touch burns his skin. "I'm fine," he cracks. "I've punched the fuck out of shit before, and this probably won't be the last time. I've never broken my knuckles, or…" he pauses and blinks once. "It's just a couple of cuts. Ripped skin, I'm a bleeder." He tries to smile at her. "You know I am."

She backs up, she thinks _too little too late_, and she says, "I'd take the stairs if I were you, go out the back. If Cragen sees you…"

"What, uh," he starts, and he moves to her side. "What did you say to him?"

Shaking her head, she grins smugly. "Don't worry about it, after all, you, uh, you didn't ask me to do it, so let's both just pretend I didn't." She turns to leave but he grabs her arm, and the vile glare she gives him as she turns around isn't enough to get him to let her go. "What?"

He sees the lines of her jaw square off, he can tell she's clenching her teeth. He slides his hand down her arm and he almost works up the nerve to grab her hand. Thinking better of it, he lets his hand fall away from her completely and he shrugs. "I'm…" he shakes his head, licks his lips, and he looks around the small gym. The walls are painted concrete, one window on one side is too high to give anyone a view out of it and too low to let in any natural light. The floor is the same poured concrete only it's covered with gym mats that were probably donated from a local high school after years of wrestling and gymnastics. The back wall is lined with small, dented, rusty metal lockers, each one wearing a piece of masking tape with a unit member's last name written on it. He tilts his head when he spots his, and right next to it, Olivia's. "How long have we been partners?"

Her eyes widen. "What the hell does that have to do with…" she stops speaking when she notices that his body is still twitching, though he's had plenty of time to calm down. Something's wrong with him, and she decides to answer his question before he explodes again. "Two years, six months, two days, seventeen hours, and thirty-eight minutes." She twists her wrist when he gives her a befuddled glance, showing him her watch. "I set a timer when I got this job. Guy outta the Three-Nine bet me three hundred bucks I'd quit in less than five years," she says, and she isn't joking.

He laughs softly, nodding, and he looks down at his worn sneakers. He kicks at the blue mat at his feet and gives another sniff. "And how many times has this happened in the last two years?" he asks. "Ya know, uh, me...completely losing my shit?"

She screws up her face and tries to sound reassuring as she begins, "You did not completely…"

"But I am," he nods as he interrupts her, and he lifts his head to look at her. He knows, he can tell by the way her eyes change that she sees exactly what's happening. His red eyes widen a bit more, his lips flatten, and he takes a breath to keep himself from crying. "I am...I'm losing it, Liv." He moves and the loud cracks of his back and neck pop and ripple through the thick tension in the air between them. "Believe it or not, this used to happen more often."

She furrows her brow, looks at him as though it's the first time she's ever seen him. She silently analyzes the creases in his forehead, the lines in his cheeks, they're not wrinkles but they mean something. "More often than once a day?" she jokes, but when she sees him flinch at her words she softens her tone. "I was...I was kidding, I'm sorry."

He nods at her and then continues speaking. "I used to be so much worse, so you...you're doing your job, okay? You have...calmed me down a lot. A fucking lot." He scratches at a spot on his chest. "But when I get like this, fuck...I don't know...how to get a handle on it. I mean...there's no other way to…" he can't find the words, not without being more honest than he can be right now, not without sounding all the more like the asshole she thinks he is. "And, uh, when you said…" he inhales. "I've been with her since I was seventeen, obviously Kathy already met the asshole." He palms his way down his face and exhales. "Not...I wasn't this bad, though. I was just…" he coughs. "I've never yelled at or hit my wife or my kids, I never will, and ya know, we were married so long, she's seen me punch a few holes in the plaster, but she and the kids never bear the brunt of this the way…"

"I do," she almost whispers. Like a flipbook, she remembers every time she's watched him hurt somebody in the box, get into a scuffle with a perp, come to blows with anyone who dared disagree with him. She replays memory after memory of his boxing matches with lockers and car doors, nights where she witnessed him rip and tear punching bags and mutilate the machines in the workroom. He doesn't have any problem letting her see the rage and the violence, and for the first time in almost three years, she understands why. Or at least, she assumes. "Go home," she whispers, and she turns to leave the room, her eyes closing, praying he doesn't stop her again, but as usual her prayer goes unheard. She slowly expels a deep sigh. "What?" She barely looks at him over her shoulder, both hands on the sides of the door frame.

He says something to her that doesn't register at first, not until he walks over to the wall of lockers. "You hear me?" he prods, because she didn't say anything.

"Is that what this is about?" She watches him move, the way his body vibrates as his arms tense and release. "You can work things out with her, you always do. I'm sure it's not as bad as…" she jumps at the sound of the metal crumpling under the force of his punch. She winces, watching him remove his fist from the crater he's made in the door of an empty, nameless locker. "Jesus, Elliot!"

"I've been trying to figure out…" he sniffles, he's crying now, he can't stop it. "What's been making me so angry, and I can't…" he shrugs. "It's just how I'm wired. My father…"

"My mother," she counters, stopping him. She moves fast, pulling his one still-balled fist into both of her hands. "You keep telling me that I'm not going to end up like her, that my father being what he was doesn't mean anything about how I'm gonna turn out, so take your own fucking advice." Her voice is low and she has no idea that she's grazing his swollen knuckles with her fingers. "You are not your father, this is not bad wiring, El."

He looks into her eyes and sniffles but says nothing.

She tries to smile. "To answer your question, you've lost your shit a lot, when a case got personal or someone really fucking pushed your buttons, but I have never seen you like this. Not...not like...this." She turns his fist over in her hand and uncurls his fingers. She cringes when he seethes, and she can hear the knuckles click back into place. "The is the worst it's ever been, and…"

"And you're still here," he whispers to her. "I don't...I don't mean for you to be the one that has to deal with me like this, but you're…" he pauses, licks his lips, and he rubs his eyes with the hand that's not finding a comfortable home in her palm. "Liv, you're the only one I trust enough to see me break." The words leave him and he chokes on a breath. He didn't mean to say it out loud, but now that he's gone this far, he might as well tell her the truth. He brings his eyes to hers again, and he says, "I think I know why I've been…" He curls his fingers again, unfolds them, keeps them resting on her hand. "I, uh...I know what triggers it, and this shit with Kathy...yeah, it added fuel to the fucking fire, but…" he looks into her eyes.

She sees his pupils dilate, watches them dart back and forth as they focus on each of her eyes independently. Her breath sharpens like icy daggers in her lungs when his lips curl into an almost smile. "But?" she whispers, but she isn't exactly sure she wants to hear what he's about to say.

He clears his throat, swallows back, and exhales long and slow. "You ever want something...so fucking badly...and somehow it's always just...out of reach?" He watches her nod, he grins. "It's, uh...it's like that." He settles for a cryptic admission, knowing he's not in any frame of mind to say anything more.

There's a silence between them, only the very soft sounds of her fingers brushing over his bruised and torn hand.

"Can I stay with you?" he whispers, his eyes glued to the patterns her fingers are drawing in his palm. He hears her answer and he nods and gulps. "I need you," he tells her, and admitting it out loud makes him feel both weak and strong. "I need you to...be there…" he sniffles. "And I need you to help me find a way to control this...rage...because this can't happen again, not at work, and especially not in front of…not with you."

"We'll figure it out," she tells him, and suddenly she gasps and she drops his hand as if it were a lump of hot coal, as though she'd only just realized she'd been holding it. "Go," she says to him, "You have a key to my place, just...go." She runs both of her hands through her hair and empties her lungs completely on her way out of the room.

He watches her move and when he can no longer hear her heels clicking on the tiles, he turns suddenly, lets out an incredible grunt, and punches the empty locker one more time. He immediately drops his head against another, whimpering slightly. He's certain that, for the first time, he's broken one of his knuckles. He shifts around and slides down the wall to the floor, pulls his knees up to his chest, and he closes his eyes and bows his head. Everything in his life is on the verge of shattering to pieces, and he's praying that someone can help him keep the most fragile parts together.

Olivia.

**A/N: Oh...my. What's happening to Elliot? Is this the first or last time he loses control? Will he find another way to vent that won't result in broken bones or a lost job? And what did Olivia say to Cragen?**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: ****You are the witness of change and to counteract. We gotta take the power back** **(Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, some characters are much younger than canonically written, and it's set very early in the history of the show. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

When he walks through the door to Olivia's apartment. He looks around with one hand still on the brass knob, and he smiles. He takes in the simple, contemporary style of her furniture and the minimalist decor, and even though he's not, he feels like he's home. He kicks his shoes to the side and hangs his trench on a hook, and rubs his hands together as his eyes travel around the room again.

His smile widens when he sees the frames on the far wall. He's noticed them before: her college degrees, her academy graduation proclamation, two photos of her with her mother, and two photos of her with...him.

He steps over to the black wooden frames, eyes trained on one photo in particular. He runs his finger along the edge of the wood, over the glass, across her smiling face, and then he sighs. They look happy in the picture, too happy. Almost...like a couple. He squeezes his eyes shut as that thought skips through his mind, his left hand curls into a fist and he grimaces when his damaged knuckles crack.

"Fuck," he spits out. Anger bubbles to the surface again, and he shakes it off before he lets loose in an apartment that isn't even his. He turns, slowly running his hand over the sand-colored wall, and he walks around a built-in counter into the kitchen. He drops his gaze to the stove, unable to ignore the fact that it looks factory-new, spotless, as if it's never been used.

Scratching the back of his neck, he takes a step and then pulls open the freezer door, shaking his head at the empty space it reveals. "Two cartons of Rocky Road ice cream," he says, shoving the containers to the side. "What's this?" he asks himself, reaching for a Tupperware container. He shakes it, flips it over, finally opens it, and his eyes widen. "Damn. Smart girl." He replaces the lid and puts the container of folded up hundred dollar bills back where he found it.

His hands drop to the door of the refrigerator, then, as the freezer closes. He pulls it open and rolls his eyes. "Really, Benson?" He scoffs as he makes a mental list of the contents of her fridge: an orange, three white cartons of old Chinese takeout, a full six-pack of beer and three separate cans, a single slice of pre-packaged cheese, a tomato, and a bag of bread with only two slices in it. "Okay," he runs a hand down his face as he grabs a beer. He closes the refrigerator with a nudge of his elbow, opens it, and takes a long gulp as he fishes out his phone.

He plods over to the couch as he dials a number he only knows by heart because of the number of times a week Olivia makes him use it. "Yeah, hi, order for delivery, please?" He waits and then he laughs. "Yeah, that's the address," and part of him loves that his cell phone number is attached to Olivia's place, as if they live together, even if it's only by Mister Chow's. He closes his eyes as he drops into a seat, takes a sip of his beer, and kicks his feet up onto the coffee table. "Yeah, the usual, only...I need an order of water chestnuts in garlic sauce and an extra egg roll with that. No soda, we…" he smirks and shakes the can of beer in his hand. "We're good. Thanks." He hangs up, tosses his phone onto the table by his feet, and he lets his head fall back.

His knuckles hurt, his entire body aches. He licks his lips and his smile fades. In the silence, in the solitude, he can't help but think about all of the reasons he'd been beyond angry lately. The things he'd been keeping bottled up, keeping to himself. He feels the pangs of fury ignite again, and he takes a deep breath. His smile returns as the scent of the apartment fills his lungs. It's something sweet, something floral, something spicy, and all so perfectly Olivia.

Another deep breath and the very thing that calms him down sets him off; he growls, grunts, throws all of his strength into throwing a mini tantrum on the couch. His fists land on the plush cushions with heavy blows, his feet kick and his legs and thighs thrash, his back and chest heave and hurl, he curses under his breath in at least three different languages. Languages he isn't sure he knows, but he must've picked up from his partner. He grunts again, slaps his palms against the back of the couch, and he huffs and puffs with closed eyes, trying to relax. "Shit," he breathes.

He's panting, his entire body throbbing, as he stares at a spot on her ceiling. Gasping, he tries to pinpoint the moment the stress became too much to handle, when the bottle shook a little too hard to keep corked. "Damn," he expels, and he bites a bit too hard on his lip. He winces as he drops his head, and then he curses again, sitting upright fast. He looks around, almost panicked, and with another "fucking shit," he pulls his tee shirt off and frantically dabs at the spilled beer seeping its way into the arm of the couch. The crushed can is in a metallic knot on the floor, bent and split apart by his intense grip during his minor meltdown.

He hears the key turn in the lock and he jumps to his feet. He looks at the wet shirt in his hand, then toward the door before tossing his shirt over to the corner, it lands on his shoes, and he crosses his arms and waits.

"Hey," she says, knowing he's there, but she hasn't looked at him, yet. She hangs her coat on the hook next to his, throws her keys into a crystal bowl on the end table, and toes her boots off, leaving them right next to Elliot's. She looks up and starts to speak. "We can order…" Her words fall away, she blinks only once. "Why are you…" she points to his bare chest, noting that it's still heaving slightly, and she tries to swallow to appease her suddenly dry throat.

"Oh, uh," he inhales. "I spilled…and then I couldn't get up to get a towel so I used my shirt and...it's fine, it's not gonna stain, I just…"

"Slow down," she says, and she narrows her eyes. She steps over to him, looks from him to the couch, to the floor. She bends at the knees to pick up the mutilated beer can, and she lets it dangle by two fingers as she asks, "What is going on with you?"

He follows her as she moves, watches as she throws the can into the garbage bin next to the counter, and he leans against the edge of the marble as he rubs his forehead. "Nothing," he says softly, and then his eyes meet hers. He loses the last vestiges of his shell. "I don't...I don't know how to tell you without…"

"Just tell me," she almost hisses. Her eyes are dark and her brows form an eagle-like V, making her look vicious. "You asked me to help you figure this shit out before you self-destruct, and I will, but, fuck. Tell me what your problem is, or I can't fucking help you."

Unaware that he flinched at her words, he swallows hard. "You…" he blinks again. "Are you okay?" He tilts his head, suddenly his entire body is on fire. He can feel it burn. He waits for his muscles to tense, but when they don't, he realizes it's not anger that he's feeling.

She rakes her nails over her head and through her hair as she sighs, she turns around and falls back a bit, now leaning against her counter beside him. "I'm fine," she says.

He knows she's lying, he can tell. "Come on," he whispers to her, and he doesn't know why he allows his hand to move as fast as it does and cradle the right side of her face.

The action startles her, and she looks at him skeptically, but she lets him keep his hand where it is. There's comfort in it. She drops her gaze for a moment, regretting it immediately, seeing his fucking incredible chest, and she wonders for a moment why it's reddening. "I was thinking...you...before when you asked me how often this happens? How often you lose your shit at work?"

"Yeah," he whispers, and he moves toward her, his hand growing a pair of balls all its own, his thumb trailing under her right eye. "What about it?"

"Is it…" she starts, and she takes a breath and looks into his eyes. "Is it because of me?"

The question shocks him, his hand stills, his body locks into place only a few inches in front of her. What does he say? What does he do? Is this what having a heart attack feels like?

She grabs his wrist and pulls his hand away from her, and she shakes her head as she speaks. "You get mad at me a lot," she says, her voice taking on an unfamiliar tone. "Especially when the case we're...when it's children." She gnaws on the inside of her cheek, the same spot she bit to soreness earlier that afternoon. "I know I'm not a mother, I know I don't have much of a family, you don't have to throw it in my face all the time, and it doesn't mean I can't relate to…"

"Holy shit," he wheezes, and it feels like someone has punched him in the throat. "Liv, no, no," he propels himself forward and he grabs her hands. "Listen to me, that's...that's why I asked you to help me get a grip, here. I can't control what I say or do when I get in those...moods." He pulls her back around the counter and into the living room, goads her onto the couch. "I'm gonna tell you something, and you can't…" he inhales and squeezes his eyes shut. "Promise you won't freak out on me, or hate me, or…" he chuckles, but nothing about this is funny. He's serious as he says, "Don't arrest me."

Her eyes widen. "What did you do?" she asks half-panicked already.

He shakes his head and pulls her hands over to his lap, lets them fall slightly, and he traces the blue-tinged lines of her veins on her wrists. He hears her moan softly and he knows he's playing with matches in a gas tank. "I have...needs. Um, no, well…" he chomps on his lower lip for a second as he nods. "Yeah, needs. I've always had them, and I've never done anything about them." He tilts his head, moves his fingers higher on her arms, almost massaging her through her blue sleeves. He hears her stifled moans again and he gathers all the self-control he possesses to ignore them. "With Kathy...shit, it was supposed to be one fucking time, just to say we did it. It was never supposed to…"

"Excuse me?" her eyes are almost closed as she shifts closer to him. "You're not making much sense here, are you...Kathy doesn't, uh, fill your needs?" She hides her smirk well.

He scoffs as he finally looks into her brown eyes. "No, she...she never has, and these particular needs, well, she doesn't even know about them." He lets one of her arms go, scratches at his hot, red neck, and says, "Kathy and me, we've really only ever had sex so we could have more kids. We timed it, planned it, and after the twins, we...didn't want any more kids, so we don't have…"

"Wow," she interrupts, both in response to his admission that he doesn't sleep with his wife anymore and because he'd just worked out a particularly tender knot in her arm.

He smiles and nods at her. "Me and Kathy, um, we don't exactly have the kind of chemistry that I need with someone, the kind of connection that I've needed for years. I stayed with her out of obligation, and yes, I love her. I'm not telling you that I don't love her, but it's not enough. It's not deep enough, we don't trust each other enough, and it's fucking not the kind of love that could survive…" he tries to look deeper into her eyes, tries to get his point across before saying it out loud. "Kathy wouldn't understand what I want, and because I have these, uh…"

"Needs," she says flatly, and she feels his left hand rubbing and rolling against the muscles of her right upper arm. Her head falls back against the couch and she bites her lip.

"Yeah," he says softly. "It's why she's leaving me, or why...I'm leaving her. Maybe I already left, but, fuck...these thoughts in my head, the kinds of things I've been wanting so fucking badly and not getting," he pulls her closer so he can work the tension out of her shoulder, though she didn't even ask him to. "That's why I'm so fucking on edge all the time. Why I go from zero to volcano in less than seven seconds. On top of my mother being sick, bullshit at work, and yeah, it's partly because of you...but not for the reasons you think."

Her head pops up and she opens her mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a satisfied moan as his hand works miracles on her shoulder blade. She clears her throat and closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them, she asks, "What about me, then?"

"You," he stops, he slides his hand forward and curls his thumb and forefinger around her neck, grazing it as he stares into her eyes. "You and me, from the moment I met you, I knew we had instant…" he's trying to find the right way to explain, but he can feel her pulse racing under his fingers and he knows he's affecting her the same way she affects him. It makes it harder to think and speak. "We have the kind of chemistry I always hoped I'd find with...a lover. I think we have the same...needs," he says, and he's aware his voice dropped an octave, softened. He traces the lines of her collar bones with his fingers, still looking right into her eyes. "Am I wrong?"

Stunned, she can't think of anything to say other than, "I can't answer that." She blinks. "You, uh, you still haven't told me what you need, so how can I tell you if I need the same thing?"

He wraps his hand back around her neck and pulls her closer to him. He grins smugly, feels an almost evil laugh build low in his groin, and it comes out of his mouth and makes the entire couch vibrate. "You know what I need," he tells her, and he moves just a bit more, and as soon as his lips graze hers, the doorbell rings.

She leaps to her feet and practically flies to the door. She breathes fast as one hand hits over her racing heart, the other pulls on the brass doorknob, and she looks at the delivery guy with more confusion on her face than necessary.

"Uh," the man holds out the bag of food with wide eyes, too afraid to speak.

Elliot appears next to Olivia with two twenty-dollar bills. "Keep the change," he says with a smile and a nod, and he takes the bag from the man. Closing the door, he looks at Olivia. "I ordered dinner," he tells her, "I was gonna cook, but you don't have enough food to feed a fucking mouse in your kitchen." He drops the bag down to the coffee table, and he clears his throat. "I was gonna…"

"You're married," she tells him, and she turns sharply and rummages through the bag of Chinese food. "You're my married partner, so please do not tell me you were just gonna kiss me."

He takes the carton out of her hands and puts it down on the table. "Liv," he exhales, and he grabs both of her wrists. "I think I was going to, but it wasn't...I wasn't aware I was, it was just happening, and I couldn't stop it." He lets out a hot breath. "But, uh, would you have kissed me back?" He waits, unblinking, not breathing. "I need an answer because there's something I need to fucking tell you...ask you...tonight. But not if you…"

"Yeah," she says so softly it's almost as if she doesn't say anything at all. She licks her lips when she figures out that he heard her, and she watches him smile as he grabs her carton of food, his, and two egg rolls, all with the one hand that isn't clutching both of hers tightly.

He sets the food out on the coffee table in a way that makes it easy to share all of it, and he takes a bite out of an egg roll as he sits back down on the couch. He tugs on her hands, getting her to sit beside him. When he swallows, he licks around his teeth and gums, clears his throat, and says, "What I need to tell you...no one else knows. I've never said this to anyone, I've never even admitted it out loud to myself."

"You're…" she leans into him, seeing the fear in his eyes, the anxiety etched into his face. "You're serious?" She runs a hand down his arm as she falls out of her own headspace and into a pool of pure worry for him. "Okay, tell me, talk to me. I'm right here."

"Okay, well, now it's...fuck," he hides his face behind his bandaged hand for a moment. "Now, I think I'm just gonna embarrass myself, here," he spits out, and he coughs once. "In the locker room, when I said that you were the only person I trust myself to break…"

"I remember," she interrupts, her hand still rubbing Elliot's back. She feels him tremble, he's shaking like a leaf, and his fear is scaring her. "What's the matter?"

He rubs his lips together. "Do you, uh, have any fantasies?" He holds up both hands and bows his head slightly. "Not like flying on a magic carpet or jetskiing in Italy, I mean...sexual fantasies. Um, kinks." He turns his head to watch her face and when the pink tinge creeps into her cheeks he knows he has an answer. "Okay, I won't make you say it, but just nod once if you've ever told anyone about them." He watches carefully. She doesn't nod. He exhales in relief and turns his body a bit more to face her. "Nod once if you...if you're afraid of them." He keeps his eyes still and focused and when she slowly nods, he whispers, "Good. Because I'm terrified of mine. I've never told Kathy, I've never even tried because I don't trust her with them, and I can't…"

She watches the tears fill his eyes as he stops talking, and she sucks her lip between her teeth as she raises her hands and brushes away the few that have fallen. "Relax," she whispers to him.

"The guilt and the fear, the frustration and the pent-up tension," he chokes on a hard laugh as he sniffles. "It's all getting too hard to control, and for a while I mean, I thought it would just be something I had to ignore, a part of me that I had to suppress. Kill. I thought I did when I settled for a comfortable relationship. But I was in a perpetual state of hostility, and thought that's what God gave me as my cross to bear because the parts of myself that I kept hidden were so fucking far from righteous." He sniffles again. "When you showed up at work, the moment we shook hands and looked into each other's eyes, I felt something snap. I can't explain it, but I still feel it, every day with you, and...being with you started to take away a lot of the fear, and a lot of the pain," he shakes his head, blinks, more tears fall.

Her heart breaks as she wipes away the hot droplets, and she opens her mouth to speak, but he stops her.

"But it also...fuck, now there's more guilt, more frustration, more tension," he tells her. "Liv, I…" his hands start to shake and he balls them into fists as he says, "Shit, why is this so fucking…" he growls, the rage in him reacting to the nerves and he's mad at himself for not having a better handle on what he's doing or saying. "Christ," he spits, and he grinds his teeth.

"Easy," she whispers. "I'm right here, calm down, you don't have anything to be…"

"I want you," he blurts out, and as soon as he realizes he said it, he opens his eyes and looks at her. His fists unfurl. "Fuck," he breathes once. It's too late to take it back, so he goes as far forward as he possibly can. "I want you, okay? Shit, I need you, and those things...those fantasies that I need to make part of my reality? I need it to be with you." He grabs her hips, holds her in place. "I'm not afraid of myself when I'm with you. I'm not afraid of going too far, or scaring you, or hurting you because I trust myself with you." He waits a moment only to make sure his heart is still beating, and then he leans closer. "I know you won't run from me or hate me. I trust you so fucking much. And I swear to fucking God, I know you want and need the same damn fucking things."

She tilts her head, his words registering, and she takes a slow, deep breath. "Tell me," she whispers, "What's the first thing on your list? What do you want? What do you need, El?" She licks her lips and she drags her hands down his arms again. "I'll tell you if you're right."

He raises one arm, slowly smooths his hand over her cheek, slides it up the back of her neck, and he grabs a fistful of her hair and pulls back, hard. He moves closer, breathes her in, and he whispers, right against her lips, "Control."

They stare at each other in pure silence, her hair gathered in his rough hand, her hands splayed on his muscular thighs, and they both realize at the same time that they've had this exact dream before, with one minor difference, and as if it's planned, he loosens his grip, she moves her hands, and he's the first to speak.

"It needs to be with you," he tells her, and his voice cracks, another tear rolls out of the corner of his right eye. "I trust you," he whispers, and then he lets out a hard sob as his head falls forward and presses against hers. "I need you." He inhales and then he says the one thing that he knows will change everything, destroy his world and rebuild it into something he's not prepared to handle. "I love you."

Her breath hitches, and though she's fantasized of this for so long, it kills her. She knows, now, why he's been feeling guilty, why he's been so frustrated, and she knows that he's right. She doesn't know how, but he's right. She moves one hand to the back of his head, scratching through his hair. "Are you sure about this?"

"Look at me," he says in a self-loathing chuckle. He sniffles, rubs his eyes with one hand, and shrugs, defeated. "I don't have any other choice," he breathes. "I'm not just saying this to get you in bed, I'm not gonna fuck you then do a victory lap back to Queens. I just fucking admitted to myself, for the first fucking time, that I'm not fighting harder for Kathy because I think I'm in love with you, which I wouldn't fucking say if it wasn't true. If you think I'm capable of that, then…" He drags his teeth across his lip. He looks over at the spread of food on the coffee table. "Eat," he says, and he grabs his egg roll, chomps into it, and turns away from her as he shoves himself into the corner of the couch.

She reaches for the carton of water chestnuts and a pair of chopsticks. She opens it in silence, the only sound is the snap of her sticks separating. As she picks up a chestnut, she looks at him. While she puts it into her mouth, she lets herself smile. "Um," she utters while she chews. "I think I love...I love you, too."

His eyes zoom in her direction, one eyebrow arcs. He chews with a crooked grin on his face now.

"And...you…" she swallows her mouthful of food, and as she digs around for another large chestnut she tells him, "You were right. I think we do...want and need the same things, with...with each other." She hazards a look in his direction, blushing slightly. She sees that he's staring at her and she forces the redness to fade because it's taken her almost three years of hard work to come off like a badass, and badasses do not blush. "Do you...I mean, do you always need to be in control, or…"

"Not always," he interrupts, and he grabs for the chicken and broccoli. He opens it as he says, "There are a few, uh, desires," he shrugs at his choice of word, but really, it's accurate. "I can't be in total control all the time, that's…" he lifts his bruised hand and laughs at the situation. "That's how shit like this happens. When I'm not in control, I fly off the handle, so I need...you...to help me give it up, sometimes."

She leans over and latches her chopsticks around a piece of his broccoli, winking when he gives her a sly look of protest. "We don't need a safe word, do we?"

"Me and you?" He shakes his head and says, "Fuck, no. That's...that's where the trust comes in. We just have to...figure out what our limits are." He tilts his head and he grins. "Or if we have any at all." He gives her a smoky look as he pops a piece of chicken into his mouth.

She chews on her broccoli, holding his gaze. "No," she whispers. "I don't think we do."

**A/N: Oh...my...God. How do they handle this? And will we ever find out what Olivia said to Cragen? What's really going on with Elliot and Kathy?**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: ****You are the witness of change and to counteract. We gotta take the power back** **(Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, some characters are much younger than canonically written, and it's set very early in the history of the show. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

She didn't think everything would change just because a couple of words were said, but honestly, she was expecting _something _to shift at least a few degrees to the left. Maybe it would have, she thinks, if their phones didn't ring just as they got halfway through a carton of lo mein. She grimaces as she snaps on a latex glove, not looking forward to the way her apartment is going to smell when she gets home, or the mess of strewn leftover Chinese she'll have to clean up.

"Gimme one," he demands, holding out his hand expectantly, smirking at her. He eyes her up and down, shifting as his body reacts to her, and he briefly imagines her grey sweater balled up on the floor of the bedroom, her white tank top twisted into a rope that binds her wrists to the headboard. He can practically see her perfect breasts, her peaked nipples rising and falling with her sharp and ragged breath, her thighs parted for him. He lets out a low groan as he brings himself out of his fantasy and nudges her again. "Please?"

She rolls her eyes and pulls another glove out of her pocket, slapping it into his open palm. It occurs to her then that he is everything she usually hates in people; he is rude and arrogant, he's defensive and overzealous, he's a hot-tempered loose cannon. She tilts her head as she watches him tug on his glove, and she sighs. He's also incredibly brave, strong-willed, focused. He's passionate and determined, he's confident. He's funny and gentle, and he's a completely different person around his children. With them, he's warm and calm, he's goofy and playful. She squints. There are times when he's like that with her, too, but they're few and far between and now, at least, she knows why. A knot forms in her stomach when she realizes she's been staring at him, and he's fully aware.

"What?" He says it with a crooked eyebrow and a slight grin. He has to swallow and look away because every time he looks at her his dick twitches and it's been so fucking long since he's cum, every throb is painful. He growls under his breath and tries to control his frustration.

She shakes her head and looks toward the taped-off street corner. "Nothing, just…" she exhales and moves toward the medical examiner, who's kneeling near the bruised, broken, naked body of a young girl without a name. "Melinda," she says softly. "What can you tell us?"

"Not much," the dark-skinned, dark-haired woman replies with a professional lilt to her voice. "Just that this isn't your primary, she was killed somewhere else and just...dumped here." She huffs and rises to her feet, her knees clicking. "Like garbage."

Elliot takes a deep breath and cracks each of his ten knuckles, rolls his neck and shoulders which pop and snap, and he nods once. "Cause of death? Can you tell?"

"Asphyxiation," Melinda Warner tells him. "Ligature marks around her neck, at an upward angle. She was strangled by someone…"

"Taller than her." Olivia folds her arms. "No sign of her clothes or a wallet or anything?" she asks, looking around, scanning the crime scene analysts that pepper the area. "Anyone check the dumpster?"

Warner shrugs. "They're not my minions," she jokes. "Me and my guys, we handle the victim. Everything else is on you and the CSIs." She shrugs. "But I'm sure someone would have told me if we had anything to help identify her. I'll take her back to the lab, run her prints, send a swab to Ryan. I'll find out who she is, we'll get her home."

Olivia nods and then asks, "Any fluids?" and she bites her lip, still getting used to having to ask such things. It never gets any more comfortable. Thank God it doesn't.

Melinda nods, then cringes. "Various viscosities, she was raped by more than…"

"Don't say it," Elliot breaks in, and he runs a hand down his face and coughs once. "Well, thanks," he tells the doctor. "Call us when you get her name, huh?"

"Will do," Warner nods, and she rests a hand on Olivia's shoulder for a moment, smiles, and then sighs as she signals her men to put the body in a bag and get her in the van.

Olivia watches Warner walk away, shaking her head. "She can't be over sixteen," she says, knowing Elliot can hear her.

He clears his throat and nudges her with his elbow. "I don't think these lazy bastards checked the dumpster," he says, and he moves first. He pauses and shoves his hand into her pocket. He smirks, moves his hand lower and caresses her ass through the fabric of her blazer and the cotton of her pants, moans softly, and finally grabs another glove. He winks at her as he slowly removes his hand from her pocket and pulls on the glove.

Unblinking, not breathing, still and silent, she watches him. Her right eye twitches slightly, her heart gives a hard knock against her chest. He's just made his first official move and it sets her entire body on fire. "Fuck," she breathes out, and she blows out through pursed lips and follows him. "Hey!" she calls, stunned as she sees him ready to climb into the trash heap. "Not in that suit!"

He stops with one leg already over the edge of the dumpster, looks at her over his shoulder, and says, "I'm not diving in, Liv!" He rolls his eyes and chuckles, and then reaches as far as he can, grabbing a clear plastic trash bag by the top knot. He holds it up for a moment, the streetlight shining through the thin, translucent plastic. "Looks like her bloody clothes and…" he shakes the bag around. "There's definitely a wallet and a set of keys in here." He whistles to an older man a few feet away. When the CSI tech turns, Elliot shouts, "Think fast!" and throws the garbage bag at him.

Olivia hides her amusement well, takes a step forward, and gives a soft look to the irritated officer. "Would you please take photos of that?" She blinks and smiles. "If you could open it, log, bag and tag everything in it, that would be great."

The man smiles back at her and nods eagerly. "Of course, Detective Benson." He stares at her as he walks, stumbling over the uneven sidewalk because he isn't watching his step.

Olivia hears the heavy plop and knows Elliot has dropped to his feet right beside her. She can feel the heat radiating off of him and she doesn't even angle herself in his direction as she says, "I wasn't flirting with him." She peels the gloves off of her hands, slightly peeved that she didn't really need them after all, and as she wads them up and tosses them over into the dumpster, she says, "Don't look at me like that, I did what I had to do to get him to do what I wanted him to do."

"I see that," he says, and he can't help how low and almost sinful his voice sounds. He leans closer to her, drops his gaze slightly, and whispers, "And what are you going to do to me, Detective, to get what you want?"

Offering him a sly smile despite the intense pounding in her chest, she says, "You'll find out, uh, when we're off duty."

"I'm sure I will," he tells her, and his words practically melt off of his tongue. "Or maybe I won't be able to wait until then." He sees her laugh and start to walk back toward their maroon four-dour, but he grabs her arm roughly and pulls her back toward him. He leers at her as his nostrils flare. "I'm not kidding," he declares.

"Stabler, get a grip," she snaps, trying to pull her arm out of his hold. She darts her eyes in all directions, hoping no one can see them clearly. "We're at work, and this has already gotten out of…"

"Fuck, that's what I'm saying," he snips, cutting her off. "I don't know how much longer I can control myself, here, I mean...not that I'm doing a great job of it to begin with." He breathes in and out, through his nose, moaning as he gets a whiff of her perfume and shampoo. "Do you know how fucking long it's been since I've slept with Kathy?" His eyes flash with something that isn't regret at all, but just as severe.

"Well, uh," she clears her throat as she tugs her arm free, suddenly fully aware of how greatly just the tone and sound of his voice affects her. "You said...since the twins were…"

"Right," he stabs, "And since I'm married, like you so helpfully keep pointing out, I haven't fucked anyone else in just as long. I'm not exactly the solo-performance kinda guy with four kids in the house, and when I'm not home with them, I'm either in the cribs at work or at your apartment with you." He rolls another crack of horrifying tension out of his neck. "Not the ideal locations to jerk off, no matter how badly I need it." His smile grows wider, darker. "Well, at least, uh, now your place...seems like the perfect place." He shoots a glance toward the meandering cops and crime scene guys, clears his throat, and swipes a hand down the length of his blue tie. "Liv, uh, you...you fucking make me harder than a titanium rod, okay? That's on a normal day, so now that I have all these visions of being able to take you...any way I want...whenever I want...knowing that it's all gonna fucking happen…" he scrapes his teeth over his lip. "I think if you so much as blow me a kiss, right now, I'm gonna fucking cum."

She feels her lips tighten, she has half a mind to test his theory, drive him crazy, but part of her is afraid to push him over the edge so soon. They've only had the conversation, they haven't put any of their plans into practice, and she's afraid to be the one to set it all into motion. There's a chance he wasn't serious, a possibility he just needed to vent, tell someone he had such dark fantasies and a masochistic side. What really scares her, what absolutely terrifies her, is that the greatest odds are in favor of him being completely serious, that with even the slightest prodding, he will throw her up against the nearest wall and take what he wants, what he needs, and at the same time give her everything she's been craving for her entire adult life.

He waits, he prays, he slips his hand over her hip and lets his ringless finger dance around the edge of her badge and over the lip of her pants. "God, fuck, you may not even have to do that. I could…" he yanks on her pants and makes a noise he's pretty sure he's never made before. "I could kill Cragen for calling us in on this," he sneers, and he shoves her back an inch. "You never told me what the fuck you said to him. He threatened me, ya know! Told me I had to keep my personal drama out of the box!"

She tries to ignore the sudden spike of his temper, but she's more attuned to how much it turns her on now. Taking a step back toward the car, she shakes her head. "No way. You're in a mood, I'm not…"

"Fucking tell me, Olivia," he says, and he stops at his words. He's never heard his own voice sound quite like that. Low and forceful, a hint of arousal, a tinge of something playful, but the tone itself unlike anything he's ever been able to intentionally form until now. Heat rises from the soles of his feet, up his calves, his thighs, and it perches itself in the very heart of his dick. He's found his timbre. The way she's looking at him, one hand on the door handle, a haze in her eyes that is half-fear and half-lust and all adoration and compliance. He's so fucking screwed.

"I told him you and Kathy were having problems and you were up all night trying to save your marriage," she tells him, "I didn't know you actually were, it just...was something that would explain your behavior." Unconsciously, she clenches her thighs together, because the gleam in his eyes is evoking involuntary reactions. She licks her lips, clears her throat, and says, "I feel better knowing I wasn't lying, but I still…"

"You were half-lying," he interrupts, and he moves with a kick in his step and a new swagger. He unlocks the car and watches as she lowers herself into the passenger seat. He sits, jams the key into the ignition, and says, "I was up all night, but I sure as fucking fuck wasn't trying to save my marriage." He looks at her once, leans over the console, and he says, "I was trying like hell to end it." He runs his left hand over the leather steering wheel and shrugs. "Mission accomplished."

There's a silence, but a comfortable one, as they pull away from the dingy street corner and head for the Sixteenth Precinct. As they drive, she combs her hair with her nails, calming herself down, and she's almost got a normal heart rate when he speaks again. His words make her head pop up and her heart picks up speed again.. "What did you just…"

"I said," he speaks as he turns the wheel, "I chose you. She gave me an ultimatum." He presses a little harder on the gas and the memory is pulling at the reins of his irritation. "She fucking...told me either I request a new partner, transfer, or she'd call a lawyer." His lips curl as he turns down another avenue. "I handed her my phone and told her she could already call mine, and man, you should have seen the look on her face."

"Why would she do that?" Olivia asks, confused. "We didn't really talk about...what happened with you two. Other than your lack of sex." She bites down hard on her tongue. If she's not even dating him and is wholly unable to stop thinking about having sex with him, how could his wife fucking willingly pass it up? "Well?"

He chuckles and turns the wheel again, driving the car into the precinct lot. He parks in a spot that's farther away than usual, under a light with a burnt-out bulb. "She thinks the reason I'm not fucking her is because I'm fucking you." He turns off the car and swivels in his seat. "She thinks that, uh, I couldn't wait to fucking lay the hot, young thing at work, and she thinks that because you're one of the youngest in the field, that I, uh, feel responsible for you and that's why I'm never home." He moves closer, his left hand hooks around her head and he pulls her to him with such force it makes them both gasp. He weaves his fingers through her hair and pulls, tugs, yanks. "I looked her right in the eyes and told her she was right about everything, I just haven't fucked you, yet." He pulls her hair again, chuckles when she moans, and he lets his lips brush against hers as he whispers, "But I will." He darts out his tongue, swipes it across her parted lips, and says, "Tonight."

**A/N: Is he a man of his word? I may need a cold shower after writing the next chapter...it's long and...not my usual "moment." **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: A syringe and a vein, calm like a bomb. (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, some characters are much younger than canonically written, and it's set very early in the history of the show. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

The night had worn on, one suspect skirting out of trouble while another had been brought into the box, like a game of Musical Chairs that just wouldn't end. Finally, after almost twelve hours of interrogations, running tests, data checking, and re-interviewing witnesses, the right rat was in the cage. Elliot had been irritated and heavily guarded for the tail end of their shift, making things all the more tense and uncomfortable.

At ten to midnight, Cragen shouts a loud, "Go the hell home," from the confines of his office, and Olivia can't run out the doors fast enough. She's almost to the elevator, catching a yawn in a curled up hand, her eyes barely open. Her left foot raises and steps over the boundary between hallway and elevator, but her body is rammed from behind before her foot lands. "What the ever loving fuck, Elliot?" she growls as she turns, but she freezes when her eyes take him in completely.

Without saying a word, he slaps the emergency stop button on the wall, punches in a three digit code using the floor buttons, and chuckles as he tugs off his tie. "Take that off," he commands, the heated tone of his voice filling the empty box and bouncing around them. He's pointing to her jacket. One of his hands flicks apart the buttons of his shirt, the other swipes over her hair and grabs a fistful. "A little faster, huh?"

She takes in a sharp breath, her eyes widen, and she presses her lips together as she looks into his eyes while shrugging out of her coat. "What are you…" she lets out a soft yelp, feeling Elliot pull her hair backward. It amazes her how he's figured out exactly how to turn her on without ever once asking, but then again, they'd decided they didn't need to ask. They want the same things, clearly.

His shirt falls to the grimy elevator floor and he moves to undo his belt as he tugs on her hair again, harder, making her moan and bite her lip. The sound of her voice and the reddening of her cheeks is making his cock ache. "Fucking hell," he growls, fussing with his black pants. The moment they drop, he shoves her grey sweater upward, grips it with her white tank, and pulls them off over her head. He takes her in, standing before him in a bra and her pants, and he moans once and then clutches his dick and starts to stroke in long, rough passes. "Gimme your hand," he demands, and he growls softly as he feels her soft fingers slip into his palm. He stares into her eyes as he wraps her hand around his cock, gasping at her touch.

She watches his eyes close as soon as she starts to stroke, and his suddenly free hand starts to pull at her pants. "Harder," she hears him order, and she obliges, tightening her grip. She feels her pants and black lace underwear drop around her ankles, her feet kick them away. She's staring at him, still, doesn't blink, even though her eyes are tearing up, and she wants desperately to look down. He feels thick, powerful, intimidating, and her whole body breaks out in goosebumps because she hasn't yet seen the weapon that she knows can cause mass destruction, just by feeling it.

"Fuck, that's it baby," he breathes; his left hand slips up to unhook her bra, his right give another hard pull on her hair. "Fucking love how you just fucking know how I want it," he grits out, and he snaps his fingers.

Her bra slips off her shoulders and she has to shimmy a bit to get it off of one arm completely. She stops stroking him, an attempt to get the bra off of her other arm, but she feels him yank her hair back.

"Don't fucking stop," he tells her, and he smooths his left hand over her chest. He cups her right breast, swipes the pad of his thumb over her nipple. He smirks as he leans forward and bends his head. "Fucking harder," he barks just before poking out his tongue and flicking it lightly over her nipple. He moves back and inch, purses his lips, and blows.

"Oh, my God," she whimpers, her hand working faster, gripping him even more tensely.

With another almost victorious laugh, he drops his head again and latches his teeth around the perked bead. He bites down only enough to make her gasp, and then closes his lips and sucks hard. He can feel her tremble in his hold, and he straightens up a bit. When his eyes meet hers, they darken two shades, he furrows his brow, and he pulls her hair again, only this time it's on a downward angle. "Liv," he sings, a warning, and he tugs harder.

Understanding what he wants now, she at last lets herself blink as she sinks to her knees. She eyes his dick, watches in pure amazement as her hand twists and jerks it. Her pulse quickens, she takes a breath and licks her lips, and she smirks because she's had a million fantasies that start and end like this.

"Look up," he commands, "At me." He winks at her when she obliges, and he holds his breath when he watches her mouth take him in, a sight he wasn't fully prepared to see. "Holy shit," he whispers, not ready for how hot her mouth would be, not expecting her to be so fucking eager. "God, yeah, just like that," he moans, and he seethes, and he twists his hand in her hair again. "Fuck, yes."

They're staring at each other, and as primal and animalistic as this is, they see the love, need, desire, and pleasure in each other's eyes. Nothing about this is cruel, neither is being selfish, here. She blinks up at him, her eyes tearing up again, but now it's because his size surprises her. He's thrusting as she sucks him, he hits the back of her throat and every time she makes a small, slight gagging noise, he moans her name like she's the reason for his existence.

Because she is, they both know it.

"Fuck," he hisses again, "God you're so fucking beautiful," he tells her, and his hands move to her face. He cups her chin and cheeks, his thumbs swipe away the rolling droplets that are running down, and he pulls her up by her neck. He's rough, but not so much that he hurts. He's demanding, but not enough to be a complete dick. He's needy, but he knows how to give her what she needs in return. He lets her know all of this as he lifts her up and slams her into the back wall of the elevator and crashes his mouth into hers. He pries her lips apart with his tongue as he grabs her knees with his heavy, rough hands.

She moans as she feels him pull her legs apart, and her hands glide over his shoulders as she wraps herself around his waist. She takes a breath as she kisses him back, fire burning in every cell of her body.

He nuzzles her for a moment, and he contemplates their situation. He chuckles and says, "You want this, huh? You wanna fuck me? Want me to fuck you? Right here? Right now?" He nips at her lips and nudges her nose. The tip of his dick is aimed at her wet heat, resting between her folds.

She can feel him twitching, and every time he does, she moans because it forces him to slip up and down her slit, and she's never wanted anything more in her entire life than she wants him to fucking fuck her, right now. She grips the sides of his head, looks into his cloudy eyes, and she nods.

Another low laugh escapes, and he rubs his nose against hers as he shakes his head. "Tough," he snaps, and in an instant, his left hand falls to wear his cock is nestled, his right pulls her hand back down to his dick. He curls his own hand around hers, showing her that there's no amount of pressure that could hurt him, and when his hand slips away, she continues stroking as powerfully as he'd shown her. "Oh, my fucking God, yes," he growls.

She stares into his eyes and watches his pupils dilate; it happens the second his fingers thrust into her. Her head flies back, then, and she moans his name.

He thrusts fast, twisting and crooking two fingers, feeling her body pulse and contract. He moans, knowing how incredible it's gonna feel when it's his cock instead of his hand, but he needs time for that, far more time with her than he has now. "Look at me," he intones, and when her head snaps up, he smiles at her. "Good girl. Faster, baby. Fuck, I neeed this. I know you do, too," he says. He hooks his arm around her, holds her in place, supports her fully as he bends his head and sucks one of her nipples back into his mouth. He pushes another finger into her, slowly, carefully, and twists them until he hears her moans change pitch. "No," he tells her, her nipple clamped between his teeth.

Her right hand strokes him harder, her body rocks and bucks with the intense need to find sweet release, the fingers of her left hand drag up and down his back, leaving angry claw marks in their wake. "Elliot, please," she whimpers. "Please, baby."

"Please...what?" He nudges her with his nose, desperate to kiss her, but he knows once he does, he's gonna blow, and he's waited too fucking long to be spent so soon. "Ask me," he demands softly.

Her eyes roll backward, her back arches, and she tightens her grip even more, strokes faster, jerks harder. "Elliot, please...make me cum, baby." She bucks her hips, takes his fingers in deeper, moans his name in a way no one ever has before, and then she rolls her palm over the head of his dick.

"Fuck," he spits, his entire body jerks and his stomach clenches. "God, keep fucking stroking, baby, just….fuck, just like that. Fucking love you," he mumbles, his voice sounds as though his throat is lined with gravel. He twists his fingers again, then holds her gaze as he moves his one hand out from behind her back. He runs his knuckles up and down her slit, around the working fingers of his other hand, and then spreads her apart just a bit. He makes a nearly inhuman noise as he looks down, bites his lip in anticipation, and rubs his thumb over her clit as his fingers thrust in and out of her.

"Oh, my God," she cries, and she throws herself forward, both of her hands twisting and stroking his cock as she bites down on his right shoulder to muffle the sounds of her loud moans and screams. She cups one hand over the head of his cock again, twirls her fingers, and she feels him grow slightly larger as he lets a muffled curse loose into the crook of her neck. She feels her legs tighten, her back burn. She knows what's happening, but since it's never happened to her before, she doubts her body's ability to cum again. "El, baby, please, I can't…"

"Don't tell me you can't," he tells her through tightly clenched teeth, and he flicks his thumb over her clit faster, thrusts his fingers deeper. "Oh, fuck, yes, baby," he breathes, and he grunts every time he feels small spatters of her wetness hit his wrist."God, Liv, you're gonna make me cum. Fucking...don't fucking stop…" he pushes her back, stares at her for the briefest of moments, and when he feels his balls tighten and his stomach clench, he growls and slants his mouth over hers, kissing her as deeply as he possibly can.

Her throat catches his grunting curses as his mouth swallows her feral cry. She curls her hand over his cock, preventing a mess they can't clean up. He bucks and thrusts into her hands, his kiss is desperate and passionate, and every muscle in his body is vibrating. She can tell because she's wrapped around him so tightly she can feel his heartbeat through his skin. "Oh, my God," she breathes, marvelling at how ferociously he's still cumming, how violently, how much. She strokes him until he's spent, and he isn't stopping her so she watches his face contort into something that isn't purely pleasure, but definitely not pain.

He's mumbling something into her chest that he isn't even sure makes any sense. There's an intense burn running from the tips of his toes to the tip of his cock; he's wriggling to get away from her touch, but at the same time he's whispering, "Don't fucking stop, please...don't stop."

She strokes him slowly, holding him tightly. His dick is hot in her hands, and she feels it pulse and throb. "Baby," she whispers, and she sucks his earlobe into her mouth, her body singing in response to how slowly and gently he's running his fingertips up and down her slit. Teasing her enough to keep her on edge, not working her enough to make her cum a third time. "El, baby, what do you want me to do?"

He moans, and then he growls, and then he lifts his head. He smiles at her as he presses his lips to hers again and her ministrations cause another much smaller, but more intense eruption. He curses and whines and bucks, the sensation too much for him to bear. "Holy fucking shit," he pants, and he grabs her wrist to keep it still. He pulls her hand away from his fiery skin, they both look down, staring as his cock twitches and sputters on its own, seemingly making some of the rules itself.

There's a tense silence for a moment. Nothing but the two of them breathing heavily and basking in the intensity of their amazement. He's the first to move, lifting his head, and kissing her lips softly. He moans against them, whispers so softly to her she has to concentrate on feeling his lips move to tell what he's saying.

She loops her arms around him and pushes herself back, unhooks her feet from behind his back, and she holds onto him as her trembling legs straighten out and her feet drop to the floor. It wasn't sex, but fuck, she came harder than she'd ever had and, for the first time in her life, more than once. She blinks as she tries to breathe, her lungs burning as they fill, and she turns her eyes up to his. "No," she says, shaking her head. "God, no...that was…" she rakes her nails down his bare chest and the noise he makes tells her that's exactly what he needs after he's cum.

"God, you have no fucking idea," he groans, rolling his eyes, "How much I fucking needed that." He kisses her once. "We both did." He bends and starts picking up their discarded clothes, and he whistles as he swings the thin waistband of her underwear around his index finger. "Stop wearing these," he says, and he's using his newly discovered voice of dominance.

She grabs for her lacy pair, but he whips them out of her reach and she realizes he's serious. "All right," she says, and it's an honest succession. She's stunned, then, by the way he slowly redresses her bit by bit, making sure his skin grazes hers at every turn. When he finishes tugging her sweater down over her tank top, he kisses the end of her nose and then hands her his pants, nodding once.

She does exactly what he'd done for her. Pulls up his pants, zips, loops his belt through and buckles it. She works his arms into his shirt sleeves, buttons it slowly, and as she pulls on his suit jacket, what they've just done hits her. "El, what…"

He stops her with a kiss. He pulls back and hands her his tie, and he waits.

She wraps the silk around his neck, fixes it under his collar, ties it in a perfect Windsor. She doesn't know why, but she moves forward and kisses his chin.

He lifts her face with two fingers, looks into her eyes, and he whispers, "Thank you." He blinks. "Thank you for understanding...what I want. What I need." He kisses her lips. "And Liv?" He waits a brief moment and kisses her again. "I love you. You have to believe that, I fucking…"

"I know," she interrupts, and she brushes her hands down his sleeves. She looks at him and she can see the difference. He's calmer, his features are relaxed and his body less rigid. His face has a serene countenance, he's not breathing as heavily as usual. "I love you, too, but what happened here…"

"I couldn't wait anymore," he admits. He shrugs and he scratches at his chin. "Cragen breathing down my neck all night, fucking defense attorneys snapping at us, and you know how I get in interrogations and we fucking had four of them in three hours!" He lets out another heavy breath. "If I would have waited until we got to your place...I would have been a little too...much." He eyes her and he sees the understanding register on her face. "This is new, okay? I've never felt like I could let go like this, act on impulses and give into the thoughts and feelings I have been fighting for so fucking long. I didn't want to go too far, too fast."

She smiles at him and kisses him gently, and then leans over and restarts the elevator. "I don't think there's a such thing as too far," she tells him. "Not for us." She crosses her arms and runs her fingers through her hair. "And I love you, too."

He grins at her and he only hopes she knows what she's gotten herself into, because he's only had a small taste of the sexual freedom he's denied himself for so long, that he's not sure if he can hold back like this again. The thought hits him and his cock stirs to life again.

Suddenly the angry phone calls from Kathy are pushed to the back of his mind, and a new promise is born on their heels. And he always keeps his promises.

**A/N: What promise? And he crosses a line...that wasn't actually drawn in the first place. Next. **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: A syringe and a vein, calm like a bomb. (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, some characters are much younger than canonically written, and it's set very early in the history of the show. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

She yawns as she pushes through the door, twisting and yanking at the key stuck in the knob. She feels his large, rough hand wrap around her fingers and she sighs when he wiggles a bit and pulls the key out. She hears him chuckle in her ear.

He's stayed pressed against her the whole way up to her floor, down the hall, and now his hands are roaming over her body as they fumble into the small living room of her apartment. "El," she whispers, trying to move without knocking into furniture. "El, come on, what are you…"

"Shh," he whispers to her, and suddenly his hands fist the hem of her sweater. The action stops her moving, they're staring at each other almost as if they're daring each other to do something. He looks into her eyes as he pulls, lifting the blue fabric along with her white tank top, and he says, "I have waited...too fucking long for this…relax," he smirks when she lifts her arms, following his lead. "We are spending as much time together as possible…" he leans into her as he tosses her sweater and tank over his shoulder and reaches for the clasp on her bra. When he unhooks it, he says, "Naked."

She rolls her eyes, amused, but lets him peel her bra off of her body. She blinks and looks down, watching as he grabs the waistband of her pants. She raises an eyebrow. "We're in the middle of my…"

He pushes her softly as he pulls her pants over her hips. They drop as he goads her toward the bedroom, and he slaps her ass hard when they make it through the door. He laughs when she yelps and whips around to look at him with wide, doe eyes. He winks at her and whispers. "Get on the bed."

She hides the smirk well, turns, and she walks slowly with a sway in her hips she's never quite used before, and she takes her time getting in bed, raising one leg, then the other, purposely crawling, taunting him, letting him know he isn't the only one who has some control in their current situation. She scoots herself toward the middle of the bed, rolls onto her back, and waits.

He growls as he rips off his clothes, faster than is probably necessary, dropping his badge, his gun, his cell phone, to the hardwood of the bedroom floor. He shakes out her clothes, hearing the thuds as her own things fall, and he doesn't even look as he throws every scrap of fabric in his hands into the hamper to his left. He looks around and takes a deep breath, and for the first time in years, he feels like he's home. It makes him understand, realize that he shouldn't feel the least bit guilty about what he's done, what he's about to do.

"El?" she calls to him, and she smiles when he looks in her direction. "What's wrong?"

His eyes land on her, then, and he shakes his head. Nothing's wrong. Not at all. He sees her sprawled out and waiting on the bed, a wonton but somehow worried look in her eyes. He tilts his head and grins. She's younger than him, one of the reasons his wife was so quick to think he was fucking her, one of the reasons he was so quick to _want to _fuck her. His eyes darken the longer he stares, and he moans, spotting the small scars she tries so hard to hide. He knows there are bruises and broken bones that have long since healed, but they've left invisible wounds that she believes everyone else can see.

"Are you…" she begins, but the look in his eyes stops her. "Elliot?"

Her voice makes his eyes snap to meet hers. He's heard a million people say his name, but never the way she does. He loses his train of thought, the command he was a moment away from giving her is lost in the atmosphere now. "You're so fucking beautiful," he tells her, and it's at that moment he realizes he's been stroking his cock, looking right into her eyes and jerking off completely unaware. He sees her eyes flare, something flashes in them, and he moves slowly. "You are," he says, "So fucking perfect." He gives himself another hard tug and then he pounces.

She laughs when he lands on her, her hands hooking around him almost immediately. The sound of her own voice stuns her; it's never sounded so light, so happy. She's never laughed so genuinely before, and she isn't sure if she trusts it at all. Her laughter turns to moans almost immediately as his kisses turn to bites, his mouth nips from her neck to her breasts.

His hands slip up and over her hips, her sides, and he cups one breast in each of his hands, and he squeezes hard. Bending his head, he mumbles something to her and sucks one of her nipples into his mouth as his fingers twist and pull at the other.

"Fuck," she whimpers, her nails pressing into the back of his head. Her back arches, her hips rise, she can't understand how she can be so ready for more so soon after what she's dubbed "the incident" in the elevator. Another moan escapes and then she knows: she's always going to be ready for him. Always. He doesn't even have to ask. He knows he doesn't.

One of their cell phones rings, neither moves to answer it, knowing if it was anything important, they'd both be blaring. The shrill tone quiets as Elliot's fingers pinch at both of her beaded buds now, twisting, making her seethe and moan. "Jesus," she hisses.

He rolls her nipples between his fingers as he slips downward as he leaves a trail of hard bites, marring her perfect skin with teeth marks. He shifts, inhales, groans, moans her name, and he briefly wonders why she's the first and only person he's ever had such intense desire to do this for. He curses under his breath as he inhales again, her scent filling his lungs, sparking a fire in his groin that burns and hardens him instantly. "Fuck," he spits, and his strong arms loop under her perfect thighs. He pulls her legs wider apart, growls again, and his eyes flit upward to meet hers.

She can't breathe, she can't move. Her eyes focus on his as he leans forward, darts out his tongue, and she watches his face contort. She sees the most extreme pleasure she's ever witnessed in her life, it's in his eyes, the way he groans. She hears him moaning, feels the way his gravelly voice rumbles against her skin and makes her entire body vibrate. "Shit," she spits out, clutching his head. Her thighs beg to close, to tighten, but he's holding her open and devouring her like she's his last meal. _This is it, _she thinks. _This is what he meant by aggressively dominant._ But she knows this isn't even a fraction of what's heading her way.

He licks, suckles, laps like a dehydrated puppy. She tastes sweet, spicy, hot, like strong bourbon. He feels her struggling against him, bucking her hips upward and fighting to squeeze his head between her thighs, but he's stronger than her. He's proving it again. He makes a noise that sounds like a hungry lion, presses his palms harder into her skin, and he winks at her before sucking her clit into his mouth.

Her gasp is loud, her nails dig into the top of his head. "Jesus Christ," she whimpers, and she tries to thrust into him but he's pinning her down with all of his strength. She closes her eyes, then, tightly, and drops her head back. He's got her spread wide between his fingers as his tongue flicks over her fully exposed and hardened clit, and her entire body feels like a spring-loaded cannon.

"Not yet," he tells her, and he slows his licks, takes longer strides with his tongue. "Don't," he says again, tasting more from her, knowing she's hanging over a precipice and just needs the slightest nudge to fall.

"Can't," she moans, "Help it," she cries. A frustrated grunt leaves her, and her hands twist in his short hair. "El, please," she whines, and drags her nails up and down his scalp as though she's clawing her way up a mountain.

He chuckles, shakes his head with her clit in his mouth, and suckles harder. He hums as he does it, knowing it's sending a sweet reverb through her, and he closes his eyes and focuses on the way she tastes, the way her body feels under him and in his hands. "Baby," he says to her, and he opens his eyes the same time she does. "Cum for me," he demands, and he wraps his mouth around her clit again. He growls and groans the moment she comes undone, he loves the way she bucks against him, the waver in her voice as she moans strangled versions of his name, the way she grinds his face, mouth, nose, deeper into her, against her.

"Fuck, Elliot, please, you have to…" she loses her words on a loud cry, her fingers curl and her nails carve small half-moons into the skin of his scalp.

"Gimme what I want, baby," he demands, and he returns to his task. He curls his tongue, rolls it against her clit in waves, and then thrusts, fucking her with it, swirling and scooping, and loving every fucking second of it.

"El, oh, my God, I can't...oh, holy shit, Elliot," she clutches the sides of his head with her hands because she can't fucking move her legs. He's relentless, and for the second time in less than two hours, he's proven that he knows exactly how to make her body bend to his will, how to not only make her cum faster and harder than anyone ever has, including herself, but more than once. She moves one of her hands toward his forehead and pushes, but he growls at her and grabs her wrist and pulls it out of his way. This is happening, and there's not a damn thing she can do to stop it. She quickly realizes she doesn't want to stop it at all, and she gives in to him. "Holy shit, Elliot!" she screams, her body bends almost in half as her second orgasm hits her and she hears him make an incredible sound, feels him working to take in every fucking drop she's giving him.

He finally slows his licks, his breath ragged and heavy, almost as exhausted as she is. He lightly grazes her thighs with his fingertips, drawing intricate patterns as he pulls his face away from her spent heat. He crawls up her body, his hard dick pokes at her entrance but he doesn't dare thrust because he still doesn't have enough time for that. He has too many plans for that. He shifts his weight and settles against her, letting her hot, wet folds encase the sides of his dick. "I love you," he whispers.

She's still shaking as she kisses him, loving the way he goes from tender to beast and back again. "I love you, too," he says, and she takes a slow, deep, breath as their kiss deepens. She yelps into his mouth, it falls onto his undulating tongue as they roll over.

His arms are around her and he bucks his hips once, letting his cock slide upward through her folds, temptation to push into her is strong but ignored. "I'm serious," he tells her, and he pushes her back slightly. He looks up at her, his dark blue eyes wider than they have been in a while.

She's confused, and as her head lolls to the left, she squints slightly.

He sighs again. "I know you don't think I am, that I'm just...using you...but I swear to God, on my life, I love you."

"I know we haven't known each other that long," she pants, her lungs burn as much as her pussy, her body feels like hot jelly, "But I can tell when you're lying. And I know you...you would never say that...to anyone...unless you meant it." She lifts her heavy lids and looks at him. "Especially me." She smirks. "You know I'd shoot you."

He laughs and nods, but then he clears his throat and licks his lips, her taste still fresh on them, and he moans again as he swallows a mouth full of her. "I talked to Kathy...no, I stood there and listened to her fucking yell at me...for over an hour, today." He blinks, his hands are lightly grazing the skin of her perfect ass, and he lets his head fall back down to the pillow underneath him. "Aside from the kids...there's nothing...not a fucking thing worth staying trapped in a marriage that is so suffocating and toxic…" he pauses as something in her eyes startles him. "You thought we were the perfect couple, didn't you? Me and Kathy?"

"Pretty much," she whispers, and she tries not to moan at the way he's sending chills up her spine with his feather-light touches. "You never really talk about her, just...but you talk about the kids all the time, so I…"

"I can't bring her up around you," he interrupts. "I never could. Talking about her...it makes me feel like I'm cheapening what we have. It feels wrong to even think about Kathy when I'm with you, almost like I'd somehow be offending you...I mean," he chuckles at himself. "I know, I sound like a fucking asshole."

"No more than usual," she quips, because he _is_ an asshole. He has been from the time they shook hands for the first time. She kisses his forehead and takes a deep breath, finally coming down from an incredible high. "Talk to me," she whispers.

He sighs and slips his left hand between the cheeks of her ass, keeping it there. "With you...there's this fucking connection that tells me I can be me. Exactly who I am. I don't have to apologize, I don't need permission, I can just do and say whatever the fuck I want, and God, I never had that with Kathy, not for a single fucking second." He drags his hands up her back, rests them in the divot at her hips. "She's not fighting this, by the way. And I'm not going back to her, okay? Please, don't think this is just me living out a fantasy so I calm down enough to go play Mister Rodgers with her. I'm not cheating...well, I guess, technically I am…on her, but it's not..."

"You don't owe me an explanation," she interrupts, her eyes closing again. "I get it. I already told you, you need to figure out how to get a handle on your anger, and I'm gonna be here to…"

"That's not…" he sputters and shakes quickly. "No, that's not what this is, not...well, it's not all that it is, anyway," he croaks out, his throat now dry. He brings one hand to her head and brushes damp hair out of her eyes. "What I'm trying to tell you, here, is I love you. I'm fully fucking in love with you, and I have a tendency to overreact. I get protective and defensive and possessive with you. I have, since the moment we fucking met, and you always got so irritated with me for it, but now...you know why. You know the truth, and you know...that's not gonna stop just because I have you the way I fucking want you, now."

She sees it in his eyes, she can tell, and she bites her lip as she asks, "What the hell did you do?"

He smirks, his fingers curl around her hips, and he rolls to his left, settling them both on their sides. He cracks his knuckles as he leans over and turns out the light, and he sighs as he wraps himself completely around her again. "Nothing, yet, just warning you. I'm a selfish son of a bitch."

She chuckles and drops her head to his chest. "Okay, what are you planning on doing?"

"Whatever it fucking takes," he says, and his voice has that low ferocity that seems so new but so familiar now. "You...are mine." He kisses her and whispers, "Don't fucking forget that."

She shivers in his arms, her legs twitch as her hips thrust, she can't hide the way he makes her feel, the way he affects her. "Just as long as you know…"

"Oh, yeah," he whispers, and he brushes his lips over hers. "I'm fucking all yours." He kisses her again, then pulls her tightly to him."You have more of me than anyone ever has, because…" he swallows, the lump in his throat tells him that there's more emotion in this than he realizes and he's never been so fucking vulnerable before; he hates it. "Liv, you have all of me. I swear." He moves and feels her lock into place against him, she fits so perfectly. He kisses the top of her head and plays with her hair until her breathing evens out, and he closes his eyes and silently prays. He hopes that he is, by the grace of God and Olivia, he's somehow calmer tomorrow.

If he isn't, though, he has a way to vent, now. A way to release the frustration and a way to let go of the rage he knows he's capable of feeling. He has an escape, a solace, a safe haven, a miracle.

And she's sound asleep in his arms.

**A/N: Tomorrow...is anything but easy. And there will be venting. And Kathy.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: My fears hunt me down, capturing my memories. The frontier of loss. They try to escape across the street** **. (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, some characters are much younger than canonically written, and it's set very early in the history of the show. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

"Look," he's standing with his back toward her with his arms crossed, his sleeves rolled up just past his elbows, one hand brushing across his crinkled forehead. "We've been through this. A few times."

"Well, let's make it one more, Elliot!" Kathy yells, throwing her arms up in frustrated fury. "This isn't how things should be!"

"But it's how they _are_," he fires back, turning toward her with a fire in his eyes that's usually meant for battle with a perp. "There's nothing left of this...fucking bear trap we got caught in!" he barks. He unhooks his arms, takes two steps toward his wife, flattens his palms out on the metal table and shakes his head. "That's what the last fucking decade of my life has been." He gives her a sharp look, one that makes him look almost reptilian, and he says, "I love my kids. They are...the most incredible…" he pauses and smirks. "One of the most important parts of my life, but we just...kept fucking having kids, hoping it would force us to work harder at learning to love each other." He scoffs. "We barely tolerate each other, you know that. And the what...three times we were able to stomach having actual sex, we only had one intention and you can't tell me you enjoyed yourself."

Kathy balks, stares at him for a moment with wide eyes and a flat grin. "You certainly…"

"Physiological reaction," he defends, sneering. "Fuck, I deal with it all the time at work, it's the body's natural response to certain stimulus, and you can't fucking help it. Doesn't mean I was having the time of my life, we were just...procreating. Guess we thought each kid would be another chance to get something right, but I always needed...more, Kathy." He shrugs and straightens up, clears his throat, and exhales. "You obviously feel the same fucking way or you wouldn't have suggested…"

"Divorce?" Kathy pulls on the hem of her blouse, bites her lip. "Yeah, I thought you'd fight me on it. Tell me it's not what you wanted. You really want to go through with this? Put the kids through a…"

"The kids," he interrupts, raising a hand, "Will not have a single fucking idea that this is as bad as it is, okay? Around them, we are nice, we are kind, we are happy! When you leave, they won't realize it's because you're a bitter, self…"

"Wait, what do you mean, when I leave?" Kathy's voice raises, and she lunges for Elliot almost like a hungry panther.

Olivia watches through the glass as Elliot dodges Kathy's swinging arms, blinks once, then reaches for the monitor on the wall. She flips the switch, rubs her eyes, and turns to leave, knowing she shouldn't have been watching them in the first place. Whatever happens now, she's almost sure will end with either a reconciliation or a murder, and she wants to ensure that she has plausible deniability either way. What she doesn't know can't fucking hurt her.

"What?" she responds when Cragen calls her name, and she turns, her exhausted gaze landing on the older man.

Cragen squints, taking in the way her eyes seem dull and her skin looks ashen. "You okay?"

"Been a long day," she says, and she stifles a yawn as she asks again, "What?"

With an unsure expression on his face, Cragen hands her two files. "You might want to make sure you are somewhere safe, like a bomb shelter, when you tell your partner about this." He scratches his chin and says, "He won't like this. Not one bit."

Olivia furrows her brow as she flips open one file, reads as fast as she can, and mutters a foul string of curses under her breath. "How the hell did this happen?"

"Your job is to find that out," Cragen tells her, and he slaps her on the shoulder. "I'm serious, Benson, if that partner of yours loses his temper again with this one, he's gonna be…"

"Yeah," Olivia interrupts and licks her lips. "I know." She nods and watches Cragen walk back toward his office. She presses her lips together hard as she knocks the files against her thigh, thinking about ways she could possibly keep Elliot from finding out, do the rest of the job on her own. "Damn it," she hisses, and she moves to her desk, sits on the corner of the metal surface, and reaches for the phone. As she's dialing, she hears doors slam, Elliot's gravelly voice says something that only a man like him could say, and she squeezes her eyes shut when Kathy's matching shouts hit her ears. "Yeah, Detective Benson, Manhattan Special Victims, I need to verify cause of death on a, uh," she hurries to open the file, scans it, and says, "Case number one-seven-two-five-nine." She holds her breath and prays that she'll get an answer before Elliot bursts into the squadroom in all his furious glory.

"Same to you, Kathy!" Elliot booms, hurling his arm behind him and raising his middle finger in the direction of the woman who would soon be his ex-wife. "Oh, and don't bother challenging the custody terms, I got dirt on every fucking lawyer and judge in the city! No, the fucking state!"

"Got to hell, Elliot," Kathy yells, and she shakes her head as she turns and walks out of the squadroom, down the hall, out of sight.

"Thank you," Olivia says into the phone, and there's a tense silence in the room as she hangs up. She stares at the phone for a long moment, afraid to look up at Elliot, knowing what she's going to see. "Well, uh," she says, finally, and she takes a long, slow breath as she swipes her hands down the front of her red cotton shirt. She gnaws on the inside corner of her cheek, controlling herself and her reactions as she lifts her head and lets her eyes meet his.

He stares back at her, a wicked grin on his face, and he cracks his knuckles as he drops his eyes to her chest. He growls, it forms somewhere low in his groin and gets caught in his throat. "What was that?" he juts his chin toward the phone, his eyes narrow.

She knows what the look in his eyes means, it sends a chill up her spine and heat right between her legs. "Um…" she tugs on the waist of her pants as she stands up. She moves toward him, lowers her voice, and asks, "On a scale of one to volcano, how pissed off are you?"

"Eight," he answers bluntly, "Now what the fuck is going on?" He yanks his white sleeves down, refastens the cuff buttons, never once breaking eye contact with his partner.

She raises one eyebrow as she studies him, trying to decide if _eight_ is low enough for her to tell him, but deep down she's hoping it's not. She's always loved watching him blow his gasket, and now, she knows exactly what the remedy is: her. "Our do-er," she whispers to him, and she slaps the file into his chest. "Is dead."

"Excuse me?" He huffs as he pulls the first file open and reads, then yanks the second one open. He scans it, looks at Olivia, throws the files onto his desk, and snaps, "Son of a fucking bitch!" He wipes a hand over his head. "How? Just...fucking...how?" he thrusts an arm out as he yells, gesturing to the reports that are now strewn across his computer. "Fucking Christ, this is all we fucking need." He closes his eyes, and he tries to fight the urge to turn and ram his fist into the wall beside him.

With her arms curling across her chest again, she watches his hands as they move, clenching and relaxing over and over again. As she exhales, she blinks to stop her staring and says, "Mortician at Rikers said he died in his sleep, an aneurysm. Bastard didn't even suffer the way he fucking deserved to," she bites her lip and shakes her head as she steps closer to him. Heat radiates from him and falls over her, his scent fills her lungs and makes her ache, but she gives him a warning glare and tries to sound more domineering than usual. "You need to calm down."

"Yeah, no shit," he bites back at her, his hot and quickly coming breath lands on her and echoes back against his own mouth. He grunts once and says, "You know what else I need, don't you?" A moan escapes as his eyes wander over her body again, and he grins as he remembers how she tastes, how it feels to have her clit throb under his tongue, and he tugs on the fabric of his pants when he lets himself imagine feeling the same damn thing against his dick. "You gonna help me, or just stand there and…"

"Elliot, I'm serious," her tone hasn't changed but the look in her eyes has. "Cragen's looking for a reason to throw you out on your ass, and you don't want to give him one. Not tonight. Not now."

The way she's pulling rank with him right now makes his cock even harder, and he lets out a low droning noise when he feels his pants tighten. He heard his jaw click as he grits his teeth, and it takes everything he has to keep himself from dragging her out into the hall and pinning her against the wall so she can feel it, too. "Right," he nods once. "You, uh, you…" he pauses and sniffles, "You never answered my question."

His words stop her heart, her head tilts. She fingers the edges of her shirt again, twisting the fabric and pulling it down. "What was the question?"

He chuckles, it sounds dark and menacing, and he grabs her jacket and his in one hand before gripping her left elbow with the other. He pulls her out of the squadroom, into the hall, and a brief flash of a fantasy rolls through his mind before logic sets in and he drags her through the side door. He remains silent, pulling her roughly up the stairs, ignoring her questions. When he finally pushes open the final door, the one that leads to the roof, he makes his move. With one hard tug, he has her pressed against him.

A gasp leaves her as he shoves her against the hard brick wall and her eyes roll when she feels his right hand squeeze her left breast. "What the hell are you…"

"You said I need to calm down," he grits out, his left hand working his belt open and shoving his pants over his hips. "I asked if you were planning on helping me do that, but, uh, I figured...why not make the decision for you?" He slams into her, his mouth over hers, and grabs a few thick curls of her hair with one hand. He yanks backward, making her moan, and looks into her darkened eyes. "Do it."

She stays locked against him, her eyes focused on his, watching as they widen the moment her fingers wrap around his cock. She winces slightly; his dick is scorching hot and bigger, thicker, longer than she recalls. It hits her then that she hasn't experienced him at full capacity, yet, and it makes her shiver.

"Cold?" he asks in a whispered grunt. His nose grazes hers, his lips brush over her mouth.

"No," she tells him, and she curls her hand tighter, jerks him harder, faster. She tries to lower herself, but he's got a fistful of her hair wound so tightly in his grip that she can't move.

"Harder," he demands, his lips moving right against hers as he speaks.

She does as she's told, holding his dick like the grip of a baseball bat and moving in long, strong strokes. She's not blinking, and she feels his quick panting against her mouth. "Elliot," she breathes.

He knows. He makes quick work of undoing her pants and slipping one hand into them. "Good girl," he coos. "You listened to me," he says almost like a proud teacher, his hand pressed against bare, hot skin. He'd told her to stop wearing underwear and she'd obeyed. "Fuck, yes," he seethes as he starts to buck and thrust, fucking into her hand as she strokes him. "God, harder, damn it," he spits out, and he pushes two fingers upward and into her, watching her eyes widen and her jaw drop.

She moans as he kisses her, increasing the tightness and intensity of her hold on him. Another yelp flies from her mouth to his as he works his fingers deeper into her and twists them.

He crooks and bends his fingers, works his thumb into position over her clit, swipes vigorously. "Ask for it," he demands. And then he moans, rolls his eyes, and says, "God, Liv, fuck." He brings his head back down to meet her gaze and he whispers, "I know what you want, not until you ask." He grinds himself against her, growls, and moves his fingers deeper into her. He keeps them there, bending them faster, flicking her clit more rapidly. His hips are moving and he's cursing under his breath, but he's going to get what he fucking wants. "Ask...me...Olivia." He tugs on the handful of her hair he's gripping onto, and he spits out, "Fucking ask."

"Fuck, Elliot," she breathes, her hand still powerfully jerking for him. She's losing balance, her knees are slightly bent and wide apart, her back is curved in a perfect C, her head is pressed against the wall but cushioned by his thick hand. "Please," she whimpers, feeling the familiar burn rising from the depths of her body. "Oh, my God, please…may I cum?"

The laugh that rips itself from his throat is one of sadistic victory, and he kisses her softly twice before whispering, "Hell yes," and driving his fingers into and out of her roughly. "Oh, fuck, yes," he spits out, and his body moves faster, he feels her tighten her grip even more and work her hand up and down his length as fast as she can.

She's buckling and trembling and though she knows he's got her, he's holding her, she feels like she's falling and she knows exactly what it means. "Oh, my God, Elliot," she whimpers, rolling her body in waves as she cums. Her eyes pop open and she stares at him as she feels his dick begin to pulse in his hand and she gasps when he twists her to the side as he lets the first of many cuss-laced grunts fly out of his mouth.

He keeps her balanced on his hip and thigh, one hand stroking her still quivering slit as he aims and fires at a spot on the brick facade of the building. He knew it would be a heavy load and couldn't risk making a mess out of their clothes, knowing they still had work to do.

She hears him whispering something as his body jerks, as his stomach clenches, as her hand strokes slowly until he's spent. "El, what…" she struggles to speak because her lungs are empty and burning. She inhaled sharply and curls herself around him. "What's the matter?"

He shakes his head as he sniffles, unsure of how to tell her that finally having the release he needs means everything to him, but coming on the heels of his impending divorce and jeopardized job, it's all too much to unload on her. He takes a breath as he grips her wrist, her hand still around his dick, and he shakes it, which makes her shake his cock. The remnants of his explosion fly to the ground and he slowly pulls her hand away from his body.

She's quiet as she watches him bring her hand to his lips, her heart knocks against her chest as he kisses each knuckle as he stares into her eyes. "What's bothering…"

He kisses her lips, stopping her. As he deepen the kiss, he pulls and straightens out her pants, zips them back up, twists her red shirt until it's perfect. He pulls away and takes a breath and says, "Not as calm as I should be, but calm enough. For now." He kisses the end of her nose and nods once.

She immediately gets to work, gently curling his cock back into his pants, lifting and tucking in the fabric of his shirt, zipping his slacks, and buckling his belt. She brushes her hands over his shoulders and tries again. "What's wrong?"

With an objecting shake of his head, he sighs. "She told me I was impossible to love." He swallows hard and coughs once. "That, uh, that she knew our marriage wouldn't last because it's impossible to stay with an overbearing son of a bitch." He sniffles again. "What happened here, just now, I…" his voice cracks and he rolls his eyes because, again, he's vulnerable and emotional and he can't stand it. Fresh anger builds, aimed at himself, for it. "Shit, you just proved that…"

"Hey, she's incapable of loving you because she doesn't know you," she tells him softly. "She never did. She never will." She brushes his short hair back with her nails, offers him a smile, and says, "And she doesn't know why you're an overbearing son of a bitch. She doesn't know the fucking perks that come with it." She sees that her words don't have the desired effect and she frowns slightly. "You're not...you are not unlovable, because I...me, the world's most fully noncommittal and philiaphobic person... I am...so in love with you, so deeply in love with you."

He finally cracks a smile and nods. "I know you are. We each have what the other needs. Wants. I have given more of myself to you in these last couple of years than I ever even wanted to give to Kathy. In you I found someone I trust, who makes me feel alive, like I'm worth something. God, and the past few days…" his tongue rolls around in his mouth as he stares into her eyes. "I'm finding _myself _for the first time. You'll never know what that means to me."

She kisses his chin. "I know exactly what it means," she whispers. "You don't think I'm just being a good partner, here, do you? You have done the same things for me, and I spent almost three years wondering…" she blinks once and smirks. "Fantasizing. Hating Kathy because...well, I thought she got to reap the benefits of being with you."

"Now you know," he says as he nudges her back toward the door. He grabs their jackets off the ground and says, "She never even knew there _were _benefits." He stops and he pulls her by the hand into him. He holds her gaze and says, "There's so much I want to do...try...experiment with…" he brushes his nose against hers. "With you, Liv. No one else. You heard most of my, uh, conversation with Kathy. Don't lie to me, you were in the pit. Watching. Listening. Weren't you?"

Nodding at him, she says, "Only until you told her she was leaving." She shrugs innocently. "What does that have to do with…"

"I have ten years of full fucking sexual awakening to make up for," he grins. "Starting tonight."

She returns his smirk, and as she walks with him back through the stairwell door, she realizes that he knows. He knows that meeting with the medical staff at Rikers will piss him off. He knows he won't be able to handle telling the victims' families that they won't be getting the kind of justice they deserve. He knows that he has to call his lawyer and sign the death warrant for his already-decaying marriage, and it's all going to fuel his uncontrollable and volatile rage. He wasn't simply telling her what to expect tonight.

He was warning her.

**A/N: Oh. My. Goodness. Tonight? Next. **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: My fears hunt me down, capturing my memories. The frontier of loss. They try to escape across the street. (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, some characters are much younger than canonically written, and it's set very early in the history of the show. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

She'd just finished telling him how proud she was of him because he'd handle the rest of the night so perfectly and didn't try to break anyone's arms even though she'd known he wanted to. The moment the words left her mouth, he'd turned and let his fist fly into a nearby wall; it'd made her flinch and cringe and she'd thanked God that no one was in the hallway to see it happen.

She'd pulled him down the hall before anyone ran to see what the noise was, and she'd done her job of covering for him again. The rest of their time, in the elevator, the ride back to her apartment, the minute-long walk up the stairs, it had all been spent in a deafening silence. So quiet that she'd heard her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She'd been worried about him for the last half hour, he'd never just silently stewed in his anger before. She'd thought she'd given him an outlet, a way to burn the rage away, but she'd assumed she was wrong. He'd said nothing, not one word, the few feet to her apartment door, where they stand now.

Once he opens her door, she flicks the light switch and moves toward the kitchen, figuring a cold beer will be enough to get him to say something to her. As she takes the first step, though, she hears rustling and turns.

She's now watching him stand in the middle of her living room and pull off his suit, bit by bit. Her heart is hammering with every move he makes, her breath is coming in shorter and faster spurts. She's filling with an erotic dread, caught between genuine fear and desperate hope. Maybe his silence means he's not in the mood to talk, but in the mood for another outlet tonight.

He unbuttons his shirt cuffs first, opens them wide. Then, he kicks off his shoes, toes off his socks, and pushes them to the side of the room with one bare foot. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it like a frisbee onto the sofa. He shoots a glance over his shoulder and smirks at her, he knows she's watching, he knows why. The shirt comes off, next, slowly dropping away from his thick and heavy torso. He reaches up a hand, smacks the blinking button on Olivia's answering machine, and resumes his now intentional striptease. He hears, but ignores, her outgoing message as he pulls his gun, badge, wallet, and keys out of his pockets and drops them onto the coffee table.

The first recorded voice doesn't register with her, she's too focused on the way his fingers pull at the cotton of his pants. She licks her lips unconsciously as she watches his perfect v-cut come into view, followed by the curve of his hips and she gulps, refreshing her dry throat, when his thick length bobs into sight while his pants drop to the carpet at his feet.

"Who was that?" he asks, frozen and rooted to his spot. It's the first thing he's said in forty-five minutes, and it comes out in a feral growl.

She blinks herself back into the moment, still staring at his cock, and she shakes her head. "I wasn't...listening, I don't…"

"Billy? Who the hell is Billy?" He clenches his jaw and one of his hands yanks on his dick, an effort to calm himself down just enough, he doesn't need to blow up right now. Not tonight. Not yet.

"Oh," she shoots a look toward the machine and then darts her eyes back to Elliot. "A friend, um, set me up with him. I think we're supposed to go to dinner tomorrow night." She raises an eyebrow and smirks at the look she's giving him. He's jealous. "Oh, you can have a wife, but I…"

"Ex-wife," he snaps, "Soon enough." He sneers and shakes his head as the machine beeps. "You're not going on that date. Or any other dates. Unless they're with me." His biceps twitch.

The second voice on the machine is one that can't be ignored. The shrill yelling and loud curses are filtering through Olivia's entire apartment, and she tears her eyes away from the naked Adonis in her midst to stare angrily at her answering machine. "That blonde…" her words stop and she scoffs at the vile words of the message. "What the hell did she just say?" She moves, ready to pick up her phone and call the bitch back, but Elliot's cool, low voice stops her. Her head whips toward him. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he says, grinning as she glares at him. There's a question in her eyes that now masks the irritation caused by Kathy's insulting message. He crooks a beckoning finger and says, "Come here, now."

She moves, and it feels like she's walking in slow motion. Her eyes gaze into his and when she steps up in front of him, he wraps his hands around the collar of her red shirt.

"This color looks so fucking good on you," he says to her, licking his lips.

As he pulls the material up, she raises her arms for him, but she wonders if he's even heard anything Kathy said. He's not flying into a dark rage, so she assumes not, but maybe, just maybe, he's preparing to let the fury fuel what's about to happen here, and the thought makes her wet. "Thank you," she spits out, she remembers his compliment as she watches the red shirt fly and land on his jacket.

He trails his fingers lightly over the curves of her shoulders as he moves toward the clasp of her bra. "I heard her," he tells her, knowing what she's thinking. "I'm ignoring her. More important things, right now, than that fucking lunatic."

She hears the grit and growl in his voice, and then she knows. He's furious, but he's trying to keep himself in check for her. "She called you," she says, feeling the elastic buckle. She lets her arms drop so the bra falls to the floor. "Before we left the station, I know she did. What did she…"

"Not now," the words leave him like the bark of a Doberman. He drags the tips of his fingers down the middle of her chest as he takes a deep breath. "Please," he adds. "Later." He uses both hands to unclasp her pants, tucks his thumbs into the band, and he pushes the black fabric over her hips and bends to pull them off of her feet. While he's on his knees, he sets himself at her apex and licks just once, long and slow, the full length of her slit. He hears her moan and feels her tremble, and he pulls her shoes and knee-high stockings off one by one, just to add to her anticipation.

She inhales and exhales and inhales again, focusing on her breathing, because she'd caught herself holding her breath twice already and doesn't want to die before she gets the chance to love every blessed inch of the Greek God in front of her.

He rises to his feet, takes both of her hands in his, and he's pulling her toward the bedroom blindly, moving backward, skillfully proving he's memorized the layout of her apartment. When they get through the door, he slides his hands out of hers, smooths them up her arms, up her neck, cups her face for just a moment, and then he leans into her. He kisses her slowly, his mouth invading hers. As they kiss, he twists his left hand in her hair, winds his wrist, and pulls back on her head. "Down," he says to her, and he sees the lust flash in her eyes. "I saw you staring before," he says arrogantly. "You want it, take it. It's fucking yours."

She grins and feels his grip loosen, but he keeps his hand at the back of her head as she sinks to her knees. One hand loops gently around his dick, the other creeps between his legs to caress his ass, and she can tell he wasn't expecting it. His small forward jerk makes her chuckle, and she stares intently at his cock as she strokes. She watches it swell slightly, hums as she sees it darken in color. Slowly, she leans forward and licks it once, from root to tip, like a melting ice pop.

"Oh, fuck," he whispers. He gasps when she takes him into her mouth, stunned by the way she so willingly works him all the way down her throat. "Baby," he calls down to her, "Eyes open, on me."

She strains to raise her gaze to him, grips the base of his cock as she lets him slide out of her mouth, then licks her lips before moving over him again.

"Yes, baby, fuck." He starts thrusting, not enough to hurt or choke, but enough to tell her he's fully fucking enjoying himself. He keeps his eyes on her and he gives her hair a soft tug when he realizes she's about to break the one rule he has given her. "Don't close your fucking eyes." He smiles down at her. "Fuck, open that perfect fucking mouth a little wider for me. Tongue out. Oh fuck, yes," he feels her tongue hit his balls and his head falls back. He's never had an experience like this, uninhibited and consuming, a give and take, a balance. He's never had a lover give him what he wants, the way he wants it, and he's never felt the desire to give a lover what they need in return. The thought causes a tightness in his balls and a burn in his belly and he has to pull away from her before he cums. It's too soon for that. "Up," he pants, pulling a bit more firmly on her hair.

She gets to her feet and wipes the corners of her mouth, and she's still staring into his eyes. "What's the…"

"Get on the bed," he commands, but he holds out a hand and helps her up and onto the mattress. He pulls back the sheets for her, looms over her, and kisses her deeply. "Lie back, stay still."

Vibrations circulate through her whole body as she nods once, flattening herself out on the bed. She holds her breath again, she can't help it, and she expects him to run out into the living room to get his cuffs, but what he actually does makes her knees week and her thighs quiver.

"You need to fucking let go, almost as much as I do," he says, moving his hands like feathers over her skin. He grazes every inch of her body, and then he pulls her arms into place at her sides as he speaks to her. "Liv, shit. You don't have to be so fucking strong all the time," he leans over, brushes his lips over her forehead and then whispers in her ear, "You need to realize...you're not alone. Not anymore. Fucking, let me take care of you, my sweet girl. Give me the reins."

Her heart stops at his words. He knows. He really fucking knows. She's spent her entire life taking care of herself, and the better part of the last ten years taking care of her alcoholic mother to boot. She's been heavily guarded for far too long, keeping people from getting too close. Her choice of career merits the self-containment, being a woman in what is predominantly a man's field forces her to be tough, independent, strong-willed, self-sufficient, because God forbid the "little girl" ask anyone for "help." She almost can't believe what he's saying, because she could have sworn she did a fucking bang-up job hiding some things from him, too.

Lightly tracing the curves of her body with the pads of his fingers, he says into her ear again, "That's why you've been so fucking okay with all of this, huh? You know what you need, just like you fucking know what I need. You need to tear down those walls sometimes, and I'm the only one you'll ever let yourself do that with." He snaps his teeth down on her earlobe, pulls, sucks, and then lets it go. He stays there, breathing hotly and heavily into her ear as his left hand smooths down her naked chest, over her breasts, he palms over her nipples one at a time and he chuckles as her back arches and she whimpers.

He knows he's driving her crazy, that she's wet and throbbing for him, and he has to ask. "When was the last time someone made you cum so hard you couldn't walk?" He hears her moan and he adds, "Before me," with a cocky grunt. He moves over her, now both of his hands are pulling and twisting and caressing her nipples. He licks his lips as he watches her body writhe.

"God, never," she answers, and her gasp catches in her throat as he pulls her nipples again.

"Good," he remarks, and he slides his hands to her sides and lightly swirls his thumbs over her beads as a low moan leaves his mouth. "Tonight, you give me the control, baby." He slips his palms down to her hips. "Understand?"

"Yes," she barely whispers. Every nerve she has is shot, it feels like she's laying on a bed of pins and needles. She feels him move away from her, and instantly she's freezing. "El?"

"Right here," he whispers. This is what he's been waiting for, finally having the time to do what he needs to do with her, what he fucking wants with her. He climbs up onto the mattress, then, one knee falls to either side of her body. He takes a breath and he says, "Liv," he pauses, her heaving chest is in his sights for a moment before he lifts his gaze to meet her eyes. "You," he bends forward, presses the tip of his dick into her slightly, feeling her heat instantly engulf the head of his cock. "You aren't allowed to close your eyes, not yet," he tells her, and he drops until his nose is touching hers. "Understand?" He watches her nod, and he feels her shaking underneath him. She's as nervous and as petrified as he is and he knows it's for the same fucking reasons.

Neither of them has been given this before, the freedom to explore their needs, desires, and they're both unsure of what will be unleashed and how to handle it. Neither of them has ever been with someone they loved so fucking much.

He kisses her once, it seems to calm them both a bit, and he keeps his focus on her eyes as he pushes into her, slowly, deeply, until he can't anymore, and he watches her eyes widen with every inch of him she takes.

A mutual grunt flies into the air as his skin hits hers and for the first time in his life his entire cock is buried inside a woman he loves with every fiber of his being. His eyes well up and water, emotions taking their toll. He sniffles as he kisses her again, eyes still open. They're still for a moment, breathing, being, reveling in this.

He watches a single tear fall from her open eyes and kisses it away, and then, as his lips curl into a sly grin, he rears back and slams into her completely, hard, making her cry his name. It's the inciting incident, the moment where the boundaries fall away.

The pace he picks up is furious, his strokes are long and his thrusts are powerful. His fingers grip her hips so tightly, he's sure he's leaving bruises in the shape of his prints. "Liv," he chokes out, and his eyes burn, the sting of tears threatens to fully overpower him. This is the most emotionally charged experience of his life, and the first chance he's been given to fuck the way he needs to fuck. It's confusing and exciting and petrifying and wonderful. He's still staring into her eyes, watching every emotion in the world swim around in a pool of browns and golds.

She brings her hands up to his shoulder blades as her legs curl around his thrusting hips. Her nails dig into his back for support as the rest of her body succumbs to his will, bends to his silent commands, and her eyes water and leak as she loses herself in his gaze. "Elliot," she breathes, and her lashes flutter with the need but she refuses to close her eyes.

"Tell me," he whispers, "You like it like this."

"God, yes," she moans, staring up at him. Relief floods his eyes and she knows then he was afraid of this part of himself, unsure if he'd be too much for her. "Yes, Elliot," she moans again, reassuring him.

"Fuck," he spits out, and he moves faster, grips her body harder. Thrusts grow in power as thoughts of Kathy and lawyers, Cragen and IAB, flicker out like burning lightbulbs. "Fucking take it, baby," he growls as he slams into her again, and he feels regret and remorse and anger fall off of his back like rolling rainwater. A release he's needed for years. "Fuck, you feel so fucking good." He nudges her nose. "My girl."

"Yours," she whispers, feeling hot droplets roll down her cheeks, she blinks fast, but keeps her eyes open and on him. "Yes. Yours, El."

Suddenly he slows his thrusting, moved by the way she's said those words. He moves one hand from her hip to her cheek and brushes away the tears that have rolled out of her open eyes. He needs to show her his need for total control is not just violent, and that love is the absolute motivator in this. "Don't close your fucking eyes," he warns again in a whisper, his voice lower and more authoritative than before. "Put your hands up, on the headboard." He rocks slowly, moving all the way out and all the way in, slipping his hands down to her stomach.

She moans as he hits a tender spot inside her, and she slowly moves her arms up and wraps her hands around the cherry wood posts.

He keeps his eyes on hers as he curls his body, fucking her slow and deep as his mouth lowers over her still-sore left nipple. Eye contact between them remains firm as he suckles and swirls his tongue around her puffed and reddened bud, and then he backs up a bit and flicks his tongue over it rapidly.

She moans and her eyes roll but they don't close, and she feels her body losing the control it's so desperate to hold onto. She fights it until she can't anymore and she breathes sharply. "Oh, Elliot, please…" her lids fall slightly.

He lets her nipple go with a slurping pop and moves a bit faster, "Eyes open," he reminds her. He kisses his way back up to her face and peers down with barely a centimeter between them. His lips are pressed to hers, their foreheads are touching, and he whispers, "I can feel you fighting it, don't fucking fight it. Let go. Cum for me. Cum, Liv."

She shakes her head and claws at his back again. "Not...can't...without...closing...eyes." Her words come out broken, through pressed together lips, as her body works to meet his deep, slow, pistoning.

"No, baby," he says, and he kisses her sweetly. "Now you can. Close your eyes, let go, cum. I want to fucking feel you cum. Around me. On me. For me." He drives out of and into her again and again, watching her face contort and her lips curl. It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen and he swears to God he's the reason she will make that face every night for the rest of her life. "Fucking cum." He moves his hand lower and finds her clit with his fingers. "Cum, Olivia," he yells.

"Holy shit!" The cry is ripped from her throat as she seizes. Her muscles tense and her pussy tightens hard around his dick. She shoots up, off the bed, curls around him, and she lets out high-pitched screams of his name and God's as her nails claw at his back.

He holds her against him, his hands now leaving their fingerprint bruises on her back as he uses all of his strength to thrust again. He manages to pry himself out and push into her pulsating body three more times before he slams into her once more. "Fuck, fuck," he grunts in time with his blasts.

There's a moment of pure oblivion. They've lost vision, can't hear anything, all thought seems to cease to exist. They're not sure how they got into their current position, sitting up, wrapped around each other, in the middle of the bed. Their heads are bent and nestled in each other's neck, slowly kissing, biting, sucking on each other's pulse.

He's the first to speak on trembling words. "I hurt you," he whispers, looking down at the purple ovals his fingers pressed into her back.

She moans and sighs as she swipes a drop of blood off of his shoulder. "I hurt you," she counters.

"And I loved every fucking second of it," he chuckles, and then he pushes away from her to look into her eyes. "Did we really…I mean, that was fucking...fuck."

"God," her eyes roll, she bites her lip. She tosses her head, letting her brown waves fly behind her. "It was incredible. It was...everything."

"Yeah, it was," he says. He kisses her lips. His hands fold together around her neck as he says, "That was a first for me. I mean, I've never felt so much, uh...it's never been so…"

Her lips silence him. She kisses him slowly, softly, deeply. When she eases away, she says, "I know. I think...this was a first for both of us, baby. This was beyond sex, and you kept your word. I really couldn't walk if I wanted to, right now." she clears her throat and breathes. "But I know you held back. I know why you did."

He nods and brushes her nose with his. "I needed the first time with you to be what I think we both deserved," he kisses her chin. "I had to prove to you and to myself that this isn't gonna cost us anything, that what's been happening with us..." he loses his words as he looks into her eyes again, seeing the same emotions as he had before, only intensified. "I love you," he tells her, and he whispers, "I needed this to be perfect. I finally got you where I want you, I can't lose you because...I wasn't sure if I'd know when to stop." He grits his teeth and pushes away the burning behind his nose.

"Lose me?" She squints at him. "You...you're not gonna lose me. How could you think…"

"I was furious when we left the station," he interrupts. "I was more pissed off than I have been in a while, you know that. Dealing with Tucker after that shitshow at Rikers, Cragen snapping at me again, bullshit with Kathy…" he shakes his head. "The whole way home...I know I was quiet, but I was trying to calm myself down because with the way I was feeling I knew it was gonna be bad. I needed you, tonight. I needed this, with you, and I didn't want to go too far."

"There's no such thing as too far," she whispers back. She's searching his eyes and trying to tell him that as much as he needs to assert his authority she needs to surrender hers. "You and me, we decided long ago, we don't have limits with each other. That's what makes us such great partners. We're a team, and I already told you, whatever you need, whatever you want, whenever, however." She gives him a gentle nudge, nose to nose. "I trust you."

"I'm not gonna ask," he tells her, and there's the beginning of a devilish smirk on his face.

She gives him a sly grin of her own. "You don't have to ask," she reminds him, "I'm yours."

"Damn fucking right you are," he says, and he raises his hand high before bringing it down hard against her ass. He loves the way she yelps, then moans. He groans at the feeling of her body moving with his sensitive cock still inside of her. "So, uh, you're not going to dinner with Billy." He smacks her ass again and they both moan. "He can fuck off. You hear me?"

She rocks her hips again, knowing one of his newly freed kinks is being stroked beyond his orgasm; the pain causes him great pleasure. She hears him moan again, feels his hands sliding up and down her back, and she says, "Yes, Sir."

"Mmmm, you don't have to call me sir," he jokes, and he whimpers as she moves again. "Fuck, you know...I'm yours, too." He presses his forehead to hers, waits a moment, and then kisses her madly, fists in her hair, muscles rippling under his skin. "I have been, since the moment we met. I'm yours."

She nods, slowing her motions to an easy wave for him. "You are," she whispers. "I love you."

He smiles at her and then moves, carrying her with him as he rolls onto his back. He reaches for the chain-pull on the lamp, gives it a yank, and then works the covers over their entwined, sweaty bodies. He feels her curl herself around him, his cock still nestled in her. He runs his right hand through her hair as her head rises and falls with his chest, and he lets out a trembling breath.

"El?" Her head pops up, her eyes stare down into his. "What's wrong?"

He shakes his head and smiles, "I love you," he tells her. He ushers her back where she was and closes his eyes. He will tell her, he promises himself, but not tonight.

Tomorrow.

**A/N: What has Elliot on the verge of tears? And what did Kathy want?**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: My fears hunt me down, capturing my memories. The frontier of loss. They try to escape across the street. (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, some characters are much younger than canonically written, and it's set very early in the history of the show. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

"Elliot?" Cragen's voice sounds too calm, and he stands in the doorway of his office, holding out one hand while the other stays braced against the knob. "Come in here, please?"

Elliot shoots Olivia a look, one that either means she should prepare for one of his horrendous mood swings or start cleaning out his desk. He closes his eyes and gets out of his chair, runs a hand down his silver tie, and he clears his throat as he looks at Cragen. As he's walking toward the office he asks, "What did I do this time?"

Cragen bites his lip and shakes his head, and he closes the door as Elliot sits in a leather chair near his desk. "I'm not one to pry into the personal lives of my detectives," he says, crossing his arms, and he sits on the edge of his desk and narrows his eyes. "I've looked the other way, a thousand times, and I noticed a change in you. Past couple years, you haven't been as much of a pain in my ass, you haven't been as much of a hot head." He raises a hand, points a finger, "But the last few months, you are worse than you've ever been. The last three weeks, you've been one fuck-up away from losing your badge." He breathes out and rolls a kink out of his neck. "Now, Benson told me you were having trouble with your wife, but every cop in this entire fucking department has problems with relationships. It's the nature of the job. They're not breaking arms or destroying furniture. Is there something else? Something I need to know to keep your ass out of hot water?"

Elliot narrows his eyes, licks his lips, and he leans back and drops his hands to spread-apart knees. "Are you asking me if I'm…"

Cragen's hand flies up to stop his words. "I know I haven't been on the sauce in some years, but I remember what it looks like when…"

Elliot takes his turn to interrupt, and he sounds insulted and offended as he spits out, "I have not been drinking! Jesus!"

A relieved sigh escapes as Cragen slumps. "Then what's the problem? I had to fill out four incident forms. Four! Shit, and Tucker isn't buying your _fighting with Kathy_ bullshit! Is this something you need to handle with Huang or…"

"I'm handling it," Elliot growls, his teeth clenched tightly. He balls his hands into fists and shakes his head as he hears his not-yet-healed knuckles crack. "It's...being handled." He scoffs, rolls his fingers around like he's playing an invisible piano, wincing as they pop and snap. "You really thought I would not only drink myself stupid, but then come to work drunk?"

With a heavy sigh, Cragen drops his head. "I used to," he admits, and the confession stings his tongue. "I knew your father, don't forget that." He turns his eyes up and shrugs. "His issues started around your age, and I…"

"I am _nothing_ like my father," Elliot grounds out, his voice sounds like melting rocks.

"Well, that remains to be seen, Stabler, because for the last month, I have been watching you...and it's like watching Joe self-destruct all over again." Cragen's words have bite to them, he knows they do, and he picks at his cuticles with his nails as the tension in his body rises. "Do I need to tell you that Olivia's been pulling more than her share of the weight around here, lately?"

Elliot's eyes ficker. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" His blood is a degree away from boiling; the one thing he's been sure of is the equality in his partnership. He tilts his head and has to ask, "She say something to you?"

"She didn't have to," Cragen tells him, and he expels a hard curse on a heavy breath. "She's doing all the legwork because you can't handle it without having a tantrum, you have to see that!" He shoots an indicating arm toward the door. "She's out there doling out assignments to the little guys, making phone calls to the feds when _you're _the liason, and because you had to have tea and crumpets with your kids this morning, _she_ went in front of the Morris Comission for you." He shakes his head and drops it low, running a hand over his face.

"She...what?" Elliot squints, his hands toy with his cufflinks as he tries to remember having to deal with the higher-ups. He blinks and realizes what the day must've been like for Olivia, how much more assertive and severe she had to have been, and now he's having a pointless conversation and leaving her alone with a room full of men who don't appreciate her or what she's been doing at all. "I didn't know…"

"No, you didn't," Cragen intrudes. "But you'd better fucking apologize and pic up some slack! I'm not losing one of the best detectives this unit has ever seen because you're using, what, steroids? Some kind of…"

"My issues…" he yells, and he honestly can't believe Cragen is assuming the absolute worst. "Have jack shit to do with any kind of drugs or alcohol, okay? Yeah, about eighty percent of it is because Kathy…" he takes a breath, her name tastes like battery acid. "Divorce, uh, we had to tell the kids this morning, we had to look through bank statements and the pre-nup, and when it was all over, the only thing my five year old son asked me was if…" he chuckles, remembering the boy's words. "If Olivia was still coming over for dinner." He runs a hand across his forehead and sits up a bit straighter.

Cragen's eyes are on his now, looking for any sign of fog or dilation, and he can't discern what the sparkle in them means. He says, "So eighty percent's Kathy, what's the other twenty percent?" He drops his arms and grips the edge of his desk. His tan pants crinkle as he shifts his weight. "What can I do for you, Elliot? I don't want to be the guy that ends your career because you had a bad day, so I need to be sure this won't happen again."

"Cap, I can't promise it'll never happen again," Elliot says honestly, his tongue swipes over his drying lips. "I can promise you...I'm working on it, and I am sure…" he breathes. "I'm sure it won't be as bad as it's been lately, I just...have a lot of work to do." He raises both hands and shakes his head. "Not with a therapist, so don't drag Huang into this. I'm...I'm working on it."

With a slight nod, Cragen hums, and then he pulls at the wrinkles in his white button down to smooth them. "Well, then, uh...what Dickie asked, is Olivia still going to your place for dinner?"

"No way," Elliot rolls his eyes and tries to stop his smile. It doesn't work, and he chuckles. "Kathy would burn the place down if I brought Liv home on the night she…" he pauses, it hits him then, harder than it had that morning. "Kathy's leaving, tonight." He blinks and inhales through his nose. His _safe, innocent, responsible _life is over, and last night, his _dangerous, thrilling, passionate_ life officially began, but suddenly he's terrified and the thought of how drastically everything has changed hits him in the gut. "I guess I just thought this...that I wouldn't feel…" he swallows and as he tries to calm himself down, every dark memory of the last ten years crawls to the forefront of his mind. Fights with Kathy about absolutely nothing, fights with his father, fights he wishes he could have with his father now that he's gone, and the stream of consciousness is almost uncontrollable. He squeezes his eyes shut, pushes it all away, and then he looks up at Cragen. "Are we done?"

It takes a moment, but as Cragen eyes Elliot, he nods. "Yeah, go." He holds up a finger and his authority snaps back into place. "Take a walk, get some air, do not go back out into the fray like a walking time bomb," he says, "And Elliot, if you need to talk…"

"I do talk," Elliot says, reaching with a sweaty palm for the doorknob. "To Liv," he adds, but then he tries to smile. "But thanks." He leaves the office, letting the door stay open because he refuses to slam it, and he gives Olivia a hard-eyed glare as he bolts from one side of the sqaudroom to the other and out the doors without a word.

Olivia looks around, notices that every other person in the room has watched him leave and she knows they're assuming he's been fired. She eyes Cragen, who shakes his head at her and then says, "Back to work, all of you," before closing his door. She takes the chance and pops up out of her seat, running to catch up to him. She tears down the hall and follows his path around the corner. "Hey!" she yells, "Elliot, will you stop?"

He ignores her, turning another corner, and he yanks the knot out of his tie with a grunt. He punches a door to his left until it opens out of pure fear, and he steps into the gym fully before turning and whaling on a hanging punching bag.

"El, come on," she calls one last time. She catches the door before it closes, and she opens her mouth to yell at him, but her panting breath stops the moment she spots him. He's hurling his fists into the bag hard and fast, each time it swings back at him he knocks it flying again. She hears the cries of the chain, her eyes darting from his body to the bag. "Elliot," she calls, but her voice is soft and he doesn't hear her.

He works the bag like a boxer in the ring, jabbing, cutting, dodging its swings, and he doesn't care that his suit is becoming soaked in sweat from the inside out. He's frantic and frenzied, knocking out every negative thought his little chat with Cragen had sparked, and he's preparing to rip the bag to shreds, when suddenly he stops and his body jerks.

Her hand is on his shoulder.

He doesn't move, he can't. He stays, both hands on the bag, shoulders rising, chest heaving, and his eyes close as he feels her hand slide down his arm.

When his hand slaps over hers, she jumps and gasps. Her eyes widen when he turns suddenly, and she yelps when the force of his body rushing into hers slams her into the stone wall behind her. "Shit," she puffs, and by the time she regains composure and opens her eyes, he's tearing her clothes away from her body. "What did he say to…"

"Not now," he growls, and he pulls her pants down over her hips roughly. He works his own belt open with one hand while the other sweeps up her olive green top and squeezes her left breast.

She rolls her eyes back and bites her lip, but she mumbles, "The door…"

"Don't fucking care," he returns, and he really doesn't. He shakes his body until his pants fall low enough for his dick to break free. He drops his head to hers, one hand flies to the back of her head, and he yanks her hair harder than he'd planned. The sound it rips from her makes him moan and his cock twitches. "Jump." he tells her. "Now."

She does, and he catches her with ease. She locks her ankles at his back and loops her arms around his neck. "Oh, God, Elliot," she ekes out through her tightly clamped mouth. She'd expected him to be incredibly rough and fast, but he's pushing into her slowly, easing inch by inch, his head pressed against hers. "El, what happ…"

"No," he hushes, and he kisses her softly once. He wriggles his fingers, flatten his hand out to cushion her head from the hard wall. His other hand slides up the side of her body, grazes over her breast, he thumbs at her clothes-covered nipple and smirks when she moans, but his hand keeps moving. Up her neck, across her chin, he slides it until he slowly, firmly covers her mouth, and he shakes his head. "Not a single...fucking...sound."

She blinks, exhales through her nose, and she feels him work himself out of her.

His hand catches and muffles her cry as he slams back into her forcefully, but he shakes his head at her. "No noise," he whispers, "Silence, baby." He presses his hand down a bit harder, and then he starts moving again. His hips work and thrust at the same hard and brazen speed as his fists had against the bag. His lungs burn with every breath he takes, he can hear the way his skin meets hers with every forceful drive into her. "Fuck," he whispers, and he slowly moves his palm off of her mouth and brings his large hand down under her chin. He holds her head in place, keeping her still, her eyes locked on his, and he says nothing, not a word, but tells her what she needs to know with the look he's giving her in return.

Her fingers curl and her eyes roll, she feels her nails breaking the skin at the nape of his neck. He's rougher than he'd been the night before, there's a savagery in the way he thrusts and the look in his eyes is filled with a darkness that would scare anyone else, but it soothes her. She drags her nails down to the top of his back, she knows she's peeled away skin, she's leaving marks.

"Fuck," he hisses, feeling the burn of her scratches, and it only makes him thrust harder and faster. He balls the hand behind her head into a fist and coils her hair around his wrist tightly. He pulls hard as he lets out a low growl. He watches her eyes roll, her head drop with the force of his pull, and it drives him mad. He drags the hand cupping her chin all the way down her chest and stomach, and he lets out a string of curses, ones that emphasize his Queens accent and New York attitude. He loves her body, every inch of it. He skirts his hand lower and he grazes her swollen clit with his thumb. He hears her start but he shakes his head. "Shh," he says to her, one brow arched high and his smirk darkly wicked.

She bites her lip hard, closing her eyes, controlling her voice. She feels him brush the sandpaper pad of his thumb over her clit again and the cry builds in her throat; she rushes to swallow it back. "Give me your hand," she hears him say, and it's the voice that has become his truth. She opens one eye, tilts her head, and slowly drags one arm away from his back to slip her hand into his. She presses her lips together harder as her back rubs against the stone, rising and falling as he hits into her.

He holds her hand gently in his for a moment, he keeps his eyes open and on her as he kisses each knuckle once before bringing her hand down to their working sex. He lays his large paw over hers, guides her fingers, trains them to rub her clit the way he does. When he's sure she understands, he pulls his hand away and stares down, watching his cock move mercilessly into and out of her, fast and hard. He licks his lips as he sees his dick glisten, and he dashes his eyes to her hand. He has to hold in a cry of his own as he looks at the way her middle and ring finger circle and swipe over her clit, the way her thumb skims along his cock as it moves. He slaps his free hand down on her sensitive flesh, then grips and pulls, opening her wider. "Faster," he tells her, and he knows now that she's going to explode. "Shit, that's it, fucking rub that clit for me," he grunts. He curls himself over to meet her nose to nose, eye to eye, and he whispers, "You're gonna fucking cum, and you're not gonna make a single...fucking...sound."

He moves faster, harder, deeper, and he feels her tightening, feels her walls clamping around him. He brushes her nose with his, winds his hand tighter in her hair, pulls back hard, and he waits until the moment he sees her eyes widen.

The instant he kisses her, she explodes. Her thighs close tighter around him, her ankles jerk and pull him deeper into her. Her body undulates between him and the gym wall, every sound she would possibly make is swallowed by his kiss. She clutches his arms when she feels him begin to throb and pulse, he's so deep inside of her she can feel every fucking thing. She holds her breath and stifles the scream as he rips out of her and thrusts back into her one final time before he cums.

He's shaking in her arms, his abs clenching and releasing with every shot he fires. "Need you...to keep moving…" he breathes, and he feels her loosen her grip and she gives the slightest, weakest whimper as her hips buck and rock.

She knows what he needs, what it does for him, and she knows what he wants to take from her. Her eyes roll as she feels one of his hands sweep over and slowly begin to fondle her clit again. She shakes her head.

He smirks and nods. And then he winces, he closes his eyes and lets out soft painful mews which turn into erotic grunts. He flicks at her clit a bit faster, eagerly ripping another orgasm from her before he has to give in to the pain and pressure and stop. His head falls back and he drops his jaw in pure ecstasy when he feels her cum around him again, and he lets himself withstand another few strokes in and out before he caves.

She goes fully limp, her breathing heavy and ragged, and she's amazed at the way he can still support her after the intense workout they'd both given each other. She smiles when he starts peppering her face with soft kisses, a high contrast to his demeanor a moment ago. "El, what…"

"You're mine," he whispers, pulling his spent cock out of her. He slowly drags two thick fingers between her still throbbing folds. "This is mine," he says sternly. He stares into her stunned, waiting eyes as he brings his slickened fingers to his lips and sucks them into his mouth. Gently, he drops her to the ground, holding her steady, and he nods once. "Fucking mine."

She nods back at him, dropping to her knees to pull up her pants and his, and as she stands, she brushes the back of her hand against his cheek. She smirks and her other hand cups and grips his dick through his pants. "And this?"

He moans. "That's all fucking yours." He kisses her and groans as she strokes him through his clothes once.

She moves both hands, straightens out his jacket and begins to knot his tie for him. "What the hell happened in that office?"

He grins smugly, watching her tuck in his shirt and buckle his belt for him. He's warmed by the fact he doesn't have to ask or demand. Neither does she. He takes her collar and straightens it, then makes sure her seams are straight as he zips her pants. "He...fuck, he thought I had a drinking problem. He told me I reminded him of my father. The one thing I've been so fucking afraid of, and he fucking says it!"

"Oh," she shoots him a look and smirks, "He couldn't be more wrong." She kisses his forehead and says, "You didn't storm off like The Flash because…"

"You...you needed me," he tells her, and his hands comb the tangles and knots out of her hair, ones that he caused to begin with. "He told me that you had a lot on your plate because of me, my temper got us both in trouble and you needed to handle a lot of shit that…" he shakes his head and continues to play with her hair. He offers her a small smile. "I needed to get myself together and you needed to…"

She rises on her toes and kisses him, silencing him. "None of this was your fault," she says to him, "and you don't need to wait until you think I'm too wound up, or until you fly off the handle." She catches his eyes. "You said this was something you wanted, needed." She kisses him again. "Not being able to be who you are...that's what was making you so angry. You don't have to…"

He stops her this time, a soft kiss and a shake of his head. "No, like I said, this was for you. You were under a lot of pressure and this isn't just about me." He blinks. "It shouldn't always be just when I need it, I know when you need it, too."

She sighs and nods at him, but then says, "What's eating you? You...I know last night, you were…"

"Baby, listen, last night…" he bites the inside of his cheek. Emotions are so hard for him, but with her he needs them to be easy. "When I told you I felt everything, I meant, fucking everything. That was the first time in my life _real_ love has been part of the equation, that was the first fucking time I had sex for all the right reasons, and if a kid came out of it, well, it'd be a fucking bonus! I felt how incredible it could be, made me realize the reason I do this job isn't just my morals speaking for me anymore, now it's fucking real! Liv, I need that, every night, for the rest of my fucking life."

"God, me, too," she whispers to him. "I've never experienced anything like that before, and I've never been so fucking in love, either, you're not alone in this."

He runs a hand down her green shirt and smiles. "You didn't turn away, you didn't stop me, you didn't laugh at me, you took everything I gave you, which gave me exactly what I fucking needed, I realized last night that you are the first and only person in the world that really knows me, and…"

"Loves you," she finishes. "If I'm gonna have the pleasure of seeing the rough and vulgar sides of you, you have to show me the other sides of you that you're afraid of." She leans in close to him. "Crying doesn't make you weak, no matter what the fuck your father told you. You'd never say that to Dickie, you tell him all the time that he can cry if he needs to, and you said it yourself, if you're gonna break, I'm the one you do it in front of," she says, and she kisses him again. "I love you, all of you."

"I know you do," he whispers to her before he kisses her and then he smacks her ass and says, "You're, uh, you're coming to dinner at my house, tonight."

"Are you kidding?" she balks, and she takes the first step toward the door. "Kathy's last night there and you, what, want me to witness the fireworks? That's not gonna…"

"Baby," he smirks and that darkness flashes in his eyes when he looks at her. "I wasn't asking."

**A/N: oh?**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: My fears hunt me down, capturing my memories. The frontier of loss. They try to escape across the street. (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, some characters are much younger than canonically written, and it's set very early in the history of the show. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

"And then the teacher held up my paper and taped it to the board for everyone to see, and she said I was the only one in the class that spelled all of the words right!" Lizzie babbles as she stares excitedly at Olivia and bites into a brownie.

Olivia looks back at the girl, just as eagerly, and says, "That is so awesome! I am so proud of you!"

Elliot grins as he watches from his seat at the table, and he almost doesn't notice the way Kathy is glaring at him. _Almost. _He exhales, wipes the corners of his mouth with a napkin, and then slowly turns to her. "What?"

"I've been civil," she whispers harshly, one hand flicking through her sleek, blonde ponytail. "But did you have to bring her here? Tonight?"

He nods once, his lips tightening. "You need me to be calm, tonight, and the only way I could be is if she's here," he says to her. "When we put the kids to bed, and I watch you walk away…" he cracks his knuckles and once-faded memories start to reaffirm their place in his consciousness. He has visions of his father leaving in the middle of the night, coming back a week later, leaving again, treating his family like a twenty-four-hour convenience store, coming and going as he pleases and only when he needs something. He balls up a fist and clears his throat, shakes his head, and says, "Once you leave, you're gone. You can't come waltzing back here like…"

"I know that," she interrupts, and her eyes turn at the sound of her son's laughter. She pauses at the sight of Olivia folding napkins into the shapes of dinosaurs and cranes, making them roar and fly, making her children more excited about dessert than they've ever been. "You can send her home, you can ask me to stay, we can…"

"And why would I do that?" His voice is soft but so darkly firm. "In the past week, I have been able to be myself, breathe for the first time in ten years, and I won't apolo…"

"Oh, so I was suffocating you?" Kathy snaps in a harsh whisper, her head whipping back to Elliot. "You weren't yourself, at all, in the last…"

Elliot tries to control it, he tries to keep it in check, but he slams a hand down on the table and turns sharply. Through gritted teeth, he says, "No, I wasn't!" He softens suddenly, running his eyes over to his kids. They haven't noticed, thanks to Olivia, and he sighs and rubs his forehead. "Not with you, I wasn't. There are a million things you don't know about me, that you'd...God, you'd despise me even more than you already do, so you need to go…" he inhales, clears his throat, and licks his lips. "Before the little respect we have for each other turns into resentment and then we…" shaking his head, he closes his eyes. "We need to keep that from happening, for them." He turns again, smiling at the way all four of his kids are now totally engrossed in the origami circus Olivia has created for them, each holding a folded-napkin animal. He feels his pulse slowing, his breathing deepening, and he runs on hand down his blue flannel shirt as he says, "We never wanted this life, not...not with each other."

"What's all this really about?" Kathy asks, and she throws her napkin down, scoots her chair over to him, and leans on her hand. She's careful to keep the sleeve of her silk blouse off of the table. "Is this just...what, you said you had needs that I couldn't fulfill, but you never seemed interested in sex after work or…"

"Not with you," he says too fast, and he cringes at how much of a fucking douche he feels like now. "I didn't mean it the way it sounded," he says fast. He sighs and says, "You wouldn't understand half of what I need, and it's so far removed from what _you _need that we'd end up disgusted by each other if we even had the conversation." He pulls at his collar and says, "It's not..it's not just the sex, either. It's everything, it's my interests, hobbies, dreams, goals...you want this safe, secure, quaint...Norman Rockwell life, and that's not me. It never was, it never will be." He shrugs. "You never cared enough about that, you spent years ignoring everything I ever said to you about any of it, all you'd say is _Elliot, don't be ridiculous, _and then you'd try to get me to join your father's golf club."

"You can't tell me you were serious," Kathy rolls her eyes, and she tries to ignore that her children are totally amazed by her husband's partner. "You had such extreme…"

Elliot whips his head to her, his left hand pulls at the collar of his shirt. "I was serious. I am. I want to do everything I told you I wanted to do, Kathy. I want to travel, climb mountains, go cliff diving...I want to take those classes at John Jay and work my way up in the department, because I don't want to be stuck in the unit for the rest of my life like my father was, and I was serious about every other fucking thing but you brushed it all off! None of it mattered to you! I didn't matter to you." He shakes his head again and folds his arms. "You have no idea…"

"I guess I don't...uh, really know you," she admits, and she sighs. "I think...I was too afraid to get to know you when we were thrown into this mess at eighteen, and then…" she exhales and drops her arms. Her hands graze over her sleeves. "Then I guess it was too late to try, I just...settled into this, and tried to…"

"Turn me into your father," he grits, and he blinks. "This is...it's done." He clears his throat again, plasters on a fake smile, and claps his hands together. "Okay, guys! Upstairs, baths, brush your teeth, and off to bed!"

"Liv said she'd read to us," Kathleen says, grinning as she hops down from her chair, careful to avoid crumpling her napkin elephant.

Elliot smiles at that. "She will," he tells his daughter. "Upstairs, with you," he shoos the kids in the direction of the staircase, and once all four little bodies are out of sight, he sighs. "You...you promised them bedtime stories?" he raises an eyebrow at Olivia.

"I figured it would be the best way to keep them upstairs and occupied while things down here…" Olivia eyes Kathy for a moment, torn between judging her for walking away and being afraid that she'll stay. "Happened." She turns to head up the steps, but Kathy's voice stops her. She turns, tugs awkwardly on the hem of her purple shirt, and she waits.

Kathy folds her arms and tries to seem as though she still has some control over what is happening in the house. "You honestly think I'm gonna let you stay upstairs with my children, while they're…"

"I've watched the kids before," Olivia reminds Kathy with a sneer. "And, yes, I don't think your five-year-old twins should be taking baths by themselves." She shakes her head. "I'm not the bad guy, here," she says, and her eyes darken and narrow.

Kathy balks, her mouth opens and closes as she fishes for a reply, but she relents. "No, I guess…" she exhales. "That would be me." She moves, then, turning her back on Olivia and Elliot to fetch her packed bags out of the closet.

Olivia shoots Elliot a warning glance, and then makes her way up the stairs. She spends an hour with the twins as they take turns in the bath, playing with soap crayons and splashing around, and she hates how much she loves it. Part of her assumes that there's a reconciliation going on downstairs, while a smaller part of her hopes that this will be part of her regular routine once Kathy's out the door. She helps each child into their pajamas, reads them a quick story about a goblin and a troll, and once they're asleep, she kisses them on their cheeks and then heads into the older girls' room.

She brushes and braids Maureen's hair first, and then Kathleen's, and she cringes when she hears the shouts and yells from downstairs filtering through the vents. With a plastered on smile, she grabs a princess storybook off of a small, white shelf, and wiggles it at the girls. "Which one?" she asks, grinning.

The girls, oblivious to their arguing parents, chatter and point and yell, overlapping each other.

Laughing, Olivia plops onto a chair and opens the book to a random page. "Okay, uh...looks like it's gonna be Rapunzel!" she tells the girls, and she motions for them to make themselves comfortable, in their beds, under their covers. Once they're settled, she clears her throat and does her very best to dramatically reenact the story for them. She hopes she's doing a good enough job that they can't tell the yelling from downstairs has gotten louder, the words have become more foul and vulgar, and the things being said are hateful and terrifying.

Clearly, the girls can't hear anything but her story, and once the evil witch is banished from the kingdom and Rapunzel marries her prince, they're both sound asleep with the most peaceful smiles on their faces. She grins, kisses each child on the forehead, and then slips across the hall into the guest bedroom, too afraid to go downstairs and not comfortable enough to be in the bedroom that is technically still half Kathy's. She gasps, suddenly hearing a loud crash, harsher shouting, the slamming of a door, and then pure silence.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she waits with halted breath, and after what seems both an instant and an eternity, she hears the stairs creaking. She hears doors softly opening and closing out in the hallway and she knows he's checking on his kids. It makes her smile, but it fades fast when the door in front of her swings open. Her eyes widen as she stares at him, his dark form seems larger. "Hey, are you…"

He holds up one hand and shakes his head, the other hand moves and starts picking at the buttons on his shirt as he kicks the door behind him, closing it. "Come here," he says, and his voice has that new, milk-chocolate quality that he knows makes her weak.

Inhaling sharply, she moves fast, and she knows exactly what he wants. Her fingers work his belt buckle open, they slide down the zipper of his jeans and graze his dick on the way. She starts to speak but hears him growl and she knows, this is not the time for talking.

He wiggles to help her get his pants off, and he makes quick work of her purple oxford. The buttons pop one by one and he pushes her off of him, stares into her eyes, and pulls the cotton away from her skin. He moans and smirks as a purple blur drops to the floor. He kicks, roughly sending his shoes and pants flying, and he shrugs off his shirt and peels off his socks. "On the bed," he demands, and as she moves, he grabs at her pants. He makes her work her way out of them, chuckling as she fights with the dark material. He throws them over his head and snaps his fingers. "Bra, off," he barks.

She holds his gaze, slowly reaching around her back to unhook her bra, and she licks her lips when he starts stroking his cock in front of her, and she watches his eyes glisten as she drops her bra to the hardwood. "Are you gonna tell me…"

"Later," he spits out, and he crawls on his knees, up onto the mattress, over her body. He hunches over and kisses her hard, madly, grabbing one of her hands and moving it to his dick. He moans into her mouth as she takes over for him, gripping tightly and moving fast.

He clutches the sides of her head and mumbles something into their kiss that she doesn't fully understand, but she nods anyway.

"Good," he breathes, and he pulls her up and spins her around, dropping her to her knees with her back to him. He chuckles at the way she yelps. "Quiet," he tells her, and he brushes all of her hair back toward him. He gathers it into a high ponytail, clutches it tightly, and leans into her. "Don't wanna wake the kids," he says into her ear, and he can feel the goosebumps form on her skin as he presses himself against her back. He tugs back on her hair hard, kisses her forehead once, and says, "Hands up, on the headboard. Hold on."

Her breath quickens, her pulse races, and she raises her shaking arms and wraps her hands around the top edge of the cherry wood. "El, I can't…" and she loses her words on a moan when he pulls her hair again.

"Shh," he whispers, and he inches forward. His other hand starts drawing light lines along her back. He takes time with her, touching every inch of her skin, and his palm grazes over a long, thin scar on the right side of her ribcage. "Baby," he whispers, and the mood shifts. He lightly traces the length, the shape, the pattern of it with one feathering finger. He presses his lips together then, and wraps his thick hand around her hip. "Be quiet," he reminds her, and he uses his knees to spread her legs wider.

She closes her eyes, feeling him behind her. Her body trembles and he heart pounds, she feels his fingers traveling up and down the skin of her inner thighs. She lurches forward when one of his fingers slips into her, and she bucks and gasps when his thumb shifts and presses between the cheeks of her ass. "What are you…"

"Shh," he says again, and he yanks on her hair, nuzzles the back of her neck with his nose, and he slides his hand up her body again, along the length of her arm, up to her shoulder, up her neck, and covers her mouth with his right hand. He opens his mouth, wraps it around a patch of skin on her shoulder, and he bites down hard as he thrusts his hips forward, hitting into her deep and fast.

Her moan is caught and muffled by his palm, her grip on the headboard tightens, and she rears back every time he thrusts, meeting him at every eager and thunderous burst.

"So fucking tight," he says, still biting at her skin. He lets her skin go, licks the purpling welt, then suckles at another spot. He feels her pulse against his tongue, moans, and he moves to a spot behind her ear. "You're so fucking wet," he says, and he smirks as he hears her moan in response, feels her shiver and clench around him. It propels him, and he presses tighter against her, moves his hips faster and slams into her harder. "God, fuck," he grunts, "I love how you fucking take it."

Rolling her eyes, she holds tighter to the headboard. She listens to his syncopated grunts and feral curses, and she tries to turn her head to look at him. A yelp escapes as he yanks on her hair, and then she moans as the sudden jerk of her body works him deeper into her.

He hushes her again, a reminder, and he slowly moves his hand away from her mouth. "Fucking perfect body," he says, his words hitting right into her ear. "Love how fucking strong you are, so fucking sexy." His right hand moves over her right nipple, he pinches and tweaks it, pulls it until she makes the most delicious noise, and then he twists it and says, "You're fucking mine. All mine."

Whimpering, she rolls against him in waves, telling him she needs more, but following his imposed silence. He's driving into her with such force, she knows he's leaving bruises, but he's hitting places he hasn't yet before, that no one ever has, and it's making her even more certain that this is so fucking right. Her head falls back against his chest, and she moans his name softly as she feels his hand sliding down the front of her body, over her stomach, and she gasps when his fingers start rubbing over her clit.

"Gimme one," he says, and then he growls. "Right now, fucking cum," he works his hand faster and thrusts harder. He pulls her hair and grunts into her ear.

"Oh, my God," she whispers, and it's entirely out of her control. He's ripping a full-body orgasm from her, every muscle in her body seizes and tightens, her knuckles turn white as she squeezes the headboard.

"Fuck, yeah," he chuckles, and he feels her hot wetness coating his dick, lightly splashing against his skin. He kicks her legs even further apart with his knees, forces her to bend over slightly, and he says, "Not done with you, yet," and rubs his palm up from her clit to the curves of her ass. He grunts once as he grips her skin with his fingers and spreads them wide, and he makes a nearly inhuman noise as he stares down at her ass. "Uncharted fucking territory," he mumbles to himself, and he gives her hair a tug. "Mine," he claims, and presses his index finger against the thin, sensitive skin of her ass. "Not now," he grunts, "Soon."

She shivers and rolls her eyes, and she nods. Her head jerks back when he pulls her hair again, and a moan escapes.

He's moving faster, harder, and he grunts as he palms and grips her ass. "Fuck, I can feel you pulling me in, baby. Shit, the way you fucking feel...God, so fucking good." He finally loosens his hold on her hair and his left hand meets his right on her ass. He holds tight as he slams forward, a brutally punishing and forceful pace, and he grunts as he raises one hand and brings it down hard. He smooths over the reddening skin before slapping her again, and he says, "Turn around."

She whines as she moves, her weak legs almost unwilling to listen. Her hands fall away from the headboard and she swivels to face him, but her eyes widen as he grabs her fast and pulls her legs out from under her. Her back lands on the mattress, her eyes pop when he thrusts back into her without slowing, and she lets out a trembling sigh when he hunches over and presses his forehead to hers.

"No one in the fucking way, now," he growls, and the thought spurs him on, one hand loops around her left wrist, brings it to find her right, and he holds both of her arms over her head. He stares down into her eyes, watches them roll and flutter, and he says, "You know I fucking love you, right?"

She nods, her lip clamped between her teeth because she's trying to stay quiet. "God, I love you, too," she says, and she's losing control of her body as he brings on another intense orgasm with the grinding of his hips. His pelvis rubs against her clit as he slams into her and she shakes her head, pulls and twists her arms, tightens her thighs around his back.

"Fuck, yes, baby," he goads, and he crashes his mouth into hers to catch her cries as he coaxes her release from her. He grunts and slams harder through her clenching and it triggers his own orgasm. He lets out a long, low growl as he cums, but he keeps thrusting.

She feels her body pulsing and throbbing, she can tell that she's squeezing around him as he tries to keep working into and out of her, and she hears his soft seethes and trembling moans. "God, Elliot," she whispers, her lungs burning as she finally breathes again, and she manages to rip one of her hands free, slings her arm over his back, and runs her hand along his hot skin as he brings himself down. "Oh, my God," she pants beneath him, her hard nipples graze against his chest with every gasping breath.

He moves still, the torturous burn not yet too much to stand, and he kisses her softly until he succumbs to the painful need to stop moving. "Fuck," he laughs, and he nuzzles her playfully, softly dotting her chin and cheeks with light pecks, and he says, "I love you."

Her nails rake up and down his back again. "I love you, too," she whispers. "Are you calm enough to talk to me, now?"

With a heavy breath, he kisses her. "This just wasn't...I wasn't just…" he inhales slowly. "This was more about me claiming full rights to you, my relationship with you, what's going on with us...it wasn't just me being pissed off at the world. You, uh, you've actually been…" he chuckles as he tries to speak, and he rolls them over so he doesn't hurt her. "Being with you...like this...it's calming me down, I thought that was obvious." He kisses her once.

Propping herself up on his chest, she looks into his eyes and nods her understanding. "It is, but…" she pauses and shifts upward, they both moan as their overly sensitive and slick bodies hit into each other again. "I heard the yelling. The things you were saying to each other," she shakes her head as his eyes widen. "The kids didn't hear a damn thing, but I did." She tilts her head. "You told her...you told her everything, as she was on her way out the door, out of your life, you picked now to do it. You gonna tell me why you…"

"Because she couldn't hold it over my head anymore, or tell me I was crazy," he cuts in, and he drops his head to the pillow. He stares up at the popcorn ceiling and makes a face, because he hates it, he always has, and he's thankful this is just the guest room. "I knew once I told her the truth, it would be easier for her to walk away. You heard her, she thinks I'm…"

"She doesn't know you," she interrupts, "But what I'm asking...you kept so much from her, for so long, but tonight, you told her things that you told me in, what, my first week on the job? She seemed so stunned by it all, completely stunned that I knew so much about you that your wife didn't."

He lets his fingers dance in her hair and he says, "You, uh, you always got me. From day one, you got me. Just me. That's why I couldn't let my guard down with you. Not until I was ready to take us, well...here." He shrugs and says, "That's why I lost my temper so easily at work, I was already pissed off at so much, but then I had to work with you, someone who understands, and listens, and never makes me feel like shit about anything, who turns me on and makes so fucking desperate...to have you with me for eighteen hours a day, sometimes all night, and not be able to kiss you, touch you, fucking throw you over the desk," he laughs, and he swipes his hand down his face. "It killed me. Shit, every day for the last three years, it slowly made me crazy, and then I had to come home to a woman who once told me I breathe the wrong way, ya know, it fucking sucked."

She doesn't mention it out loud, but she brushes her thumb under his eyes and wipes away a tear. "It's over now," she whispers. "And I happen to think the way you breath is fucking hot, so," she tilts her head and winks, smiles when he laughs, and kisses his chin.

Another slow, deep breath, another soft kiss, and then he says, "No, it's...my marriage is over, yeah. That part of my life is over. But the way I'm fucking programmed, I have a short fuse and a that's never gonna be over." He drags his hands up and over, rests them on her ass. "The way I am, the things I...fucking need, that's never gonna be over, baby. There's more to this than rough sex, but I can't…" he shakes his head. "You're gonna have to deal with it, eventually."

"Not a problem," she chuckles, and she kisses him. "You're not gonna scare me," she whispers to him. "When are you gonna stop holding back, here? You told Kathy, to her face, you yelled it at her, actually...that I'm the only one who can give you what you really need, and you have yet to fucking tell me exactly what it is, so when are you…"

He presses a finger to her lips. He smirks. "Not with the kids in the house," he says to her, and his hand descends and wraps around the back of her neck. "I know, uh, there's a lot I need to tell you. So much I need to show you, but can we...fuck, can we get through this bullshit, first? You're giving me what I need, right now, and I know I'm…"

"Everything I need," she nods, and she kisses him again, and as she settles against him, she lets her mind wander. She'd heard most of what he'd thrown at Kathy, and if he was serious, then whenever he's ready to take the next step, she'll be ready and willing to take it right along with him.

**A/N: Next: A brief, but intense conversation with Tucker, a harrowing crime scene, and Elliot gets another step closer to where he needs to be as a dark secret reveals itself. **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: My fears hunt me down, capturing my memories. The frontier of loss. They try to escape across the street. (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, some characters are much younger than canonically written, and it's set very early in the history of the show. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

"I told you," Ed Tucker looks over his desk at Elliot, his eyes narrow, "This isn't a professional reprimand, here." He shakes his head and rubs a tense hand across a furrowed forehead. "I just...felt like I should warn you, as a friend."

"Friend," Elliot scoffs, rolling his eyes. One leg swings up and props on his other knee. "I wasn't sure you still considered us friends, you've been on my ass like a hemorrhoid for…"

"It's my job," Tucker interrupts defensively, holding out both of his hands. He sighs and swipes his sweaty palms over his thighs, darkening pants slightly, and he says, "You know I only come for you and your precious partner when you deserve it. I've been trying to prevent you from becoming…"

"My father," Elliot bites, his teeth gnashed tightly together. He tilts his head, cracking the tension out of his neck, "Whatever." He tries to stop the hot blood from rising too quickly to his head. "Look, I'm gonna tell you the same fucking thing I told Cragen, and then I…"

Tucker holds up a hand and grins. "You don't have to tell me, man. I know. I see it." He blinks and sits forward in his desk, latches his hands together as he licks his lips, and says, "You wanna tell me again how you're nothing like your father?"

"I didn't cheat on my wife!" Elliot yells suddenly, one hand balling up around his knee and the other clenching the arm of the wooden chair so tightly he can hear it creaking and splitting. "We were already...over. I thought you fucking understood that." He makes a face of disgust, but it's not even clear to him if he's sickened by Tucker or himself. One of his hands loosens grip and comes to his face, he wipes it over his mouth and chin, and then he lets out a heavy sigh. "I know what I'm doing, Eddie."

"Do you?" Tucker proffers, a slightly more angular squint to his eyes. "I mean, really, do you? Because from where I'm sitting, you're solving one problem by giving yourself five more." He drops his head and licks his lips, then pulls the sleeves of his blue suit jacket lower over his white shirt cuffs. "So you haven't snapped anyone's fucking arm off, you haven't shattered any windows or demolished parts of a building in a week or two," his tone is bitingly sarcastic with a hint of truthful pride behind it, but then he lowers his voice and looks right into Elliot's eyes. "But you're fucking your partner, El. You're putting your family through hell, risking your job even more than you normally are, and you're pulling this twenty-six-year-old girl into your demented little world. She's technically still a rookie here, you're the first partner she's had after making detective, and man…" he chuckles and runs a hand through his thin, brown hair. "Anyone who earns their shield in your unit chomps at the bit to work with you. Now, uh, all this extra attention you're showing her, you think it's smart to use her professional adoration and need to prove herself to your…"

"Hold on," Elliot's voice stops Tucker cold, both of his hands flatten outward, his face reads dark and angry. "You think I'm taking advantage of her, fucking her because I outrank her? You honestly think that she's…" he can't even bring himself to say it, and his knuckles whiten as his hands become tense rocks. "She's not some schoolgirl fucking her professor to get an A, okay? We're actually…" he feels his nostrils burn as he expels intensely hot air and tries to breathe. "I love her, Ed," he admits, and it makes him slump in his chair. "For the first time in my life, I'm realizing, I fucking love someone for the right fucking reasons."

Tucker's smug grin fades, he darts his eyes to the pile of files on his desk, the crooked one on top gives him pause. "You love her?" he asks, his focus returning back to Elliot. "That's even fucking worse, man." He drags his damp palms down his face and leans over his desk. "You're really fucked, now. If you were just fucking her, there'd be a limit to the pile of hot shit that would rain down on you at work if things went south. Now?" he frowns and shakes his head. "You two do know why there are…"

"We're not breaking rules, or laws," Elliot cuts in, and he shifts in his seat as he shoots out a hand. "I mean, fuck, I'm the one that asked you if dating your partner could get you fired, and you said…"

"It can't," Ed laughs, and he nods knowingly. "But working like absolute shit because you hate her after you break up can, you son of a bitch." He makes a face and holds out his hands haltingly. "And spare me the sib story about how she's your fucking soul mate and it'll never be over and you're madly in love, because you've only known her for two fucking years, you've only been fucking her for, what, two weeks? You can't make that kind of promise."

"Three years," Elliot corrects, and he smirks, "Almost. And, yeah, Eddie, I can." He feels his face contort as the words leave his mouth, his hands brush over his grey pants, his heart hammers in his chest as he realizes how firmly he believes it.

Tucker tilts his head. "You're...you're serious," he says, and he leans back a bit. "Man, I have never...you never had that smile on your face when you talked about Kathy." He points playfully and lets himself smile back at his friend. "You're serious, you're really in love with her? You're not just fucking her to blow off steam?"

"Okay, wow, first off, I wouldn't do that," Elliot snaps, offended, "And secondly...yeah." He exhales and he nods. "I'm in love with her." He sees Tucker's face twist into a victorious smirk and he realizes something as he sits up straight. "You knew. You knew, that's why you brought me down here to talk about this?"

"Guilty as charged," Tucker sighs. "I told you, man, as a friend...I can't just stand by and let you lose your badge. Not when...losing it now would mean losing a lot more than a job, huh?" He follows with his eyes as Elliot stands and he shakes the hand that's offered to him. "Now that you were warned, uh, fix it, huh?"

"Yeah, thanks, man," Elliot says, and he turns to leave with a bit less weight on his shoulders.

Tucker stops him before he turns the knob, and when their eyes meet, he says, "You love her as much as you think you do, El, you gotta tell her. Everything."

Elliot closes his eyes and exhales. "I know," he says, and there's a resigned fear in the way he says it that fills the entire office. He nods again at Tucker and walks out of the office, closing the door behind him. He grins when he sees her in a stiff chair, his heart thumping at the way she perks up and shoots to her feet when she spots him. He resists the urge to kiss her and licks his lips.

"So What happened in there?" she asks, falling in step with him as they head out into the hallway. "He didn't need to see me?"

There's a moment of silence as they dodge cops and bypass detectives, weaving a pattern through the crowded lobby of One Police Plaza. Coming to a clearing they finally step up, side-by-side again, and head for the front doors.

Elliot shakes his head as he tugs on his green tie, and he smiles at her. "No, uh, we're good. He was just…" he clears his throat. "We got evals coming up, my name's on the list of, uh, concerns."

Her eyes narrow as she walks through the door that Elliot's holding for her. With a thankful nod at him, she says, "Concerns? Like your ass is on the chopping block?"

"Pretty much," he tells her, and he leads her out into the Manhattan afternoon. "He wanted to make sure I knew that if I so much as called someone a nasty name, it could be the push Cragen needs to bring down the ax for good." He watches the color drain from her face and he can't help it, he cups her left cheek and smiles warmly at her. "It's okay, I promise," he winks and he whispers, "I have the best fucking outlet waiting for me at home, so, I, I'll be a good boy at work, I swear."

With a soft laugh, she relaxes into his caress for a moment, but then suddenly shifts back into her firm professionalism. She shrinks away from his touch and twists to keep walking. "We got a call while you were in there," she says, and she bites her lip. "You need to...you need to promise me you can keep the promise you just made."

He keeps her stride as he turns his head and the gravity on her face scares him. "How bad is this gonna be?" he asks, and his stomach flips in anticipation.

As she flicks her hair backward, she scrapes her teeth over her bottom lip. She pulls the wrinkles out of her navy blue shirt and says, "Three kids, it's not...it's not gonna be easy."

He winces and follows her, hoping like hell he's better at keeping the promises he makes to Olivia than he's been at keeping ones he'd made to Kathy.

Eleven hours, fourteen minutes, and thirty-seven seconds.

That's how long it took for the monster that destroyed three tiny souls to be brought down by her and her incredible partner. She knows because her watch keeps track of time better than it probably should.

The emotions had been running high the whole time, Elliot had battled his temper the best he could, and the weight of the case had earned them the rest of the night and tomorrow off, thank God. They'd bolted from the precinct as soon as they put the bastard in a cage, had driven to his place in Queens in a terse silence, and now, as they walk into an equally silent house, the tension crackles even louder. She hears him behind her, but she can't bring herself to turn around; they've been battling with each other, a serial rapist, and their own demons for too long tonight, and he's kept his promise by bottling up every ounce of excessive rage. She's not looking at him, no, but she can tell by the way he moves, the sounds he's making, that he's ready to explode.

"Upstairs," he says, one word, fully weighted.

She doesn't turn, doesn't answer, simply obeys his command and pulls off her boots and socks on her way to the staircase. She rolls the socks together and holds the necks of both boots between three fingers as she climbs, heading for the guest room that has become _hers _when the kids are awake and _theirs_ when no one is looking.

"Liv, no," he says to her as he stops in front of the door to the bedroom he once shared with someone else. When she turns around, he holds her gaze steadily and extends his right arm, pushing the door open without even blinking, staring at Olivia, silently demanding her to listen to him.

A lump forms in her throat as a knot ties itself together in her stomach, but she pads her way over to him, averts her eyes from his smoky glare, and looks around the bedroom as she walks into it and drops her shoes and socks to the floor in the corner. The walls are such a pale grey they seem white, one large window is dressed with sheer blue drapes. The furniture is a deeply stained brown, all of the fixtures are silver. The tops of the dressers are lined with dust-voids where Kathy's perfume bottles and lotions once lived, his cologne, a few never-lit candles, an empty crystal vase, silver picture frames housing photos of the kids and someone she assumes is one of their grandparents.

As she walks further into the room, she feels the plush carpet under her feet, soft and cloudlike. Her left hand runs over the top bar of the canopy, she smiles sadly as she toys with the blue fabric of it. "The one thing I asked my mother for was a canopy bed," she whispered, not even sure if he was listening. "I never got one." She licked her lips and let her hand drop to slip over the comforter. "Why are we…"

"Sit," he tells her, and he can't help the surge of excitement he gets as he sees her turn and perch on the mattress without question. He's already got his tie and shirt off, and as he moves deeper into the room, the rest of his clothes are pulled away. He drops his gun, badge, cuffs, phone, keys, and wallet onto the surface of one of the dressers, and then he throws his clothes into the hamper near the door.

She smirks at his naked form, her eyes run the length of him, and her lips curl more wickedly when she sees he's already standing at full attention, but he's told her that when she's around, he always is, so she's not surprised. It makes her proud, and she sits a bit taller. "What's wrong?" she asks, her face falling. He's not stalking over to her like a panther, or barking orders for her to strip, so she knows something isn't right.

He ignores the question as he moves toward her, and wordlessly, he lifts her shirt over her head. He unhooks and peels away her bra, then slowly rolls her pants down over her hips. He lifts her with ease, yanking them out from under her, then drags them off of her legs completely. He fishes everything out of her pockets, laying it all out beside his things, and he tosses the clothes in his hands into the hamper where they mix and mingle with his.

His silence worries her now, and she suddenly feels highly overexposed. Folding her arms over her naked chest, she tries again. "Is something bothering…"

"My father," he starts, keeping her from finishing the question, "Was an asshole." He runs his tongue over his teeth as he turns, and he spots the glinting metal on the dresser. He reaches out one hand, grabs his handcuffs, and he plays with one latch as he speaks. "See, my folks were Irish-Catholic, they didn't really believe in much of anything except God and the Word of the Lord, so they stayed together even though they hated each other and had more kids than they should have." He chuckles spitefully. "Like father, like son," he quips.

Her pulse quickens as she watches his fingers clasp and unhinge the cuff in his hands. She tightens her arms around herself. "Your kids are amazing, and they're all here for a reason," she whispers, bringing her eyes back to his.

He smiles and nods at her words, but he bites his lip for a second and then takes a few steps toward her as he says, "The first two, both girls, were Daddy's Little Princesses." He kneels before her, hooks the cuffs with one finger, and then pries her arms open and away from her body. He moans as he takes in the sight, licks his lips at her beaded nipples, and he lightly pushes her to guide her back to the middle of the bed. "My sisters," he says with a light breath, "They don't remember life with my father quite the way I do."

"You have sisters?" she asks, and she wonders briefly why he's never spoken to her about his entire family until now, why he chose to do it like this.

He nods as he lays her back and kneels beside her. His fingertips start grazing the skin of her arms, up and down the full length of them, he hears her soft moans and starts talking again. "Then they had me, and then three other boys, all with the most disgustingly Irish names in the world and the bluest eyes this side of Loch Ness." He chuckles, but he's not happy. There's a bitterness in his words countered only by the way he softly smooths his hands over Olivia's body. "I guess, uh, with his job and all of us running around, he drank to make it easier to deal with. My dad, uh, he was a violent drunk."

"Like my mother," she whispers to him, and she sees him nod at her sadly. She bites her lip as he tries to soothe her pain by caressing her nipples again.

He moans once and then talks again. "Being the oldest boy, I got the honor of being my dad's punching bag. The one who could take it, ya know? He'd never hit my sisters, so when they did something wrong, I got hit because I should have stopped them. One of my brothers got into trouble? I was punished because I should have been watching them."

"Elliot," she whispers, it's meant as sympathetic but he's toying with her nipples as he speaks, so it comes off too erotic to hit the right way.

With one hand, he grabs both of her wrists, with the other he works the handcuffs open. "My whole life, I tried to find something, anything I could do that would make him proud of me, for once, but nothing was ever good enough. Not with me." He blinks and he swings his arm up and lets both cuffs unlatch. "I did the one thing that I thought, without a doubt, would make him love me. I became a cop. Like him." He gently pulls her arms up, over her head, and with a grin, he slaps one cuff around her right wrist, hooks the chain around the back of one of the silver rungs of the headboard, and tightens the second cuff on her left wrist.

She swallows hard, her eyes on his, and she clenches her thighs together. "You're a damn good cop," she whispers.

"I know," he says with a smirk, "But he wasn't. That's...that's part of my problem. For seventeen years, he would go to work, hunt down bastards who beat their kids half to death, then he'd come home and do the same fucking thing." His fingers trace the curves of her body as he says, "Took his work home with him, I guess. Maybe...that's why I'm..."

"That's not what you're doing," she snaps back to him, and her eyes roll when he starts toying with her nipples again. "Jesus, Elliot," she moans.

His dick twitches, hearing her moan his name, but he blinks fast. "Anyway, uh, one night, he was called into his sergeant's office, the guy was on a rampage, looking for dirty cops. He knew my father didn't always play fair, ya know? Told my dad he would look the other way for him if he gave the names of any corrupt cops in the unit." He turns his hands inward, starts running them up and down her legs and thighs. "My dad refused, and he paid for it. Pressure mounted, he started losing his temper at work, showing up drunk, and, uh, he blew up during an interrogation and threw his partner through the window. Sarge gave him one last chance, turn in his pals and he'd be safe. He didn't, and two weeks later he lost his badge, lost his pension, lost everything. See, so, when I became a cop...a damn good one...I moved up the rungs pretty fast, and, uh, it wasn't exactly pride my father felt." He slides the side of his hand up and through her wet folds, making her whimper.

"El, baby," she whispers, and she's confused by his actions, what he's saying, but it hits her. He's opening up to her, telling her what he's been keeping from her, while she can't run from him.

"He was jealous," he whispers, and he blinks once, "Kathleen was six when my dad got sick, he went downhill so fast." He licks his lips and teases her skin, slipping up and down but not pushing his fingers into her yet. He needs to finish telling her what he needs her to know. "When it got bad, we, uh, had to put him in the hospital. I went to see him, every Friday, I thought I owed it to him or something." He sniffles once but then shifts his weight, moves to straddle her, and as he braces her body between his thick thighs, his fingers spread her open. "I kept hoping, ya know, that he'd realize he was dying, try to make some sort of amends with me. But," he shakes his head. "He never acknowledged anything he did to me. He never apologized. And then when things got worse, he, uh...started to forget a lot of things, and then he…" he sniffles again. "I tried to talk to him about it, ask him why, what I did to deserve it all, but he couldn't remember any of it. A week later, he couldn't even remember me. And then...he was gone, and I never got…"

"Closure," she whispers, tears rolling out of her wide open eyes.

He pushes the two middle fingers of his right hand into her smoothly, his thumb finds her clit and rubs slowly. With his left hand, he brushes away her tears, and he leans over her as he starts to move his hand a bit faster. He presses his forehead to hers. "I needed you to know," he whispers, and his breath quickens as he moves his fingers faster. "I needed to tell you." He kisses her hard and flicks his thumb over her clit vigorously. "Now I need you to cum," he says against her lips, "I need you to let go...so I can let go."

Her back tenses and arches and it hits her. He will never get what he needs from his father, the source of much of his rage, and he's using her to find release. "Oh, God, Elliot," she pants, and she's stunned by how fast he's bringing her to the edge.

He nuzzles her nose and says, "You. You believe in me, you have faith in me, you encourage me," he tells her. He kisses her roughly as his fingers move deeper, faster. "Fuck, you motivate me and support me, and you fucking love me. Like no one else in my life ever has. No one." He presses her down with his left hand as his right moves with more power, and he smirks when he feels light splashes against his wrist. "Fuck," he chuckles, "That's my girl, cum for me, baby."

Her eyes squeeze shut and she swallows a scream as she feels the burn rip through her. Her spasms are suppressed by his body, her hips rise and rock into his still-working hand. "God, oh, God," she huffs as she vibrates.

He pulls his hand away from her pussy, brings it to his lips, and sucks them clean as he nudges her thighs wider apart with her knees. Moaning as he sucks on his last digit, he looks down into her eyes. "You, Liv," he says, lightly brushing his nose against her chin. "You're giving me everything I thought I always needed from my father...but, fuck, baby, all I need...is you." He thrusts once, hard, filling her deeply. He rises up a bit and pulls and twists her nipples as he slams into her.

She struggles against the cuffs, her body twisting to battle the restraints. "Oh, my God, Elliot," she cries a bit louder, and she's silenced by his rough hand pressing over her mouth.

"Kids," he says gruffly, and he swivels his hand and shoves two of his fingers into her mouth. He plays with her tongue, runs along her teeth, and then moans when she starts sucking on them the way she'd suck his cock. "Fuck," he spits out, and he changes his pace. He slows his speed but increases his force, pounding into her hard and deep, he knows they'll both be bruised in the morning. "Oh, fuck, Liv, not yet," he tells her, because he can feel her tightening around him and he isn't done with her yet. He pulls his hand away from her lips and winds it into her hair. He pulls hard and says, "Don't fucking cum yet."

Her eyes roll as she curls her back, she knows she has no control over it, but this side of him likes to think she does. She works her legs up over his thrusting hips and tries to use his body as leverage to pull herself up. She's twisting her hands in the cuffs, her body is on fire. "Please," she whispers. "God, Elliot, baby, fuck," each word on a beat that matches her pulse.

He gives her hair another hard yank, his other hand gripping her hip as he slams into her. He's almost ready, he can feel his muscles tightening, and he curls over and moves even harder, even faster, and says, "Cum, fucking cum," through gritted teeth.

Their eyes are froze open, staring at each other, matching grunts and growls meet between their parted lips, and he kisses her hard as he fires into her.

Her body lifts off the bed as she cums, anchored on either end by his fucking thighs and her cuffed wrists, and it only serves to work him deeper into her as he moves. She whimpers and cries his name softly, needing to wrap herself around him but forbidden.

"God, oh, God, fuck," he moans, still thrusting, owing to his penchant for blissfull torture. He feels her twitching beneath him, pulsing around him, and he keeps a quick deep pace. He's testing his limits, pushing himself, and in the back of his mind, he makes himself a deal. He'll stop when she cums again, and he'll put up with the intense pain until she does.

"Oh, my fucking God, Elliot," she wheezes, her inward breath a high gasp.

"Need this," he pants, and his entire body is trembling, he's working through cramping muscles and fatigued legs, he's thrusting through foggy eyesight and burning lungs. "Fuck, God, shit," he breathes. "I fucking need this, baby. Cum. One more. Give it to me."

"Oh, my God, I can't...oh, my God, El, please, fuck, Elliot," she babbles, and in spite of her doubtful protests, she does what's asked of her. She clenches around him so hard he has to stop. The cuffs clang against the metal headboard as she writhes and spasms, and the tears that spring to her eyes are spontaneous and involuntary.

With a weak arm, he reaches and his shaking fingers turn the small key in the left cuff. He grunts and moans as he reaches to unclasp the right one, letting the metal links drop to the carpet. He growls as he falls onto her and uses the final vestiges of strength to flip them over. He slaps her ass hard as her body goes limp on his.

Silence fills the room, sporadically interrupted by labored breathing, sniffles, and small trembling sobs. "I love you," he says, "You love me, right? Like...you really...love me?"

"God, yes," she replies breathlessly. "So fucking much." She tries to raise her head to look at him but all she can do is nuzzle his chest.

He smiles as he closes his eyes. "Thank God," he chuckles, and then he says, "Baby, tomorrow…" he pauses, he can't breathe yet.

"Hm?" she asks, but her heavy eyes fall, too.

He grumbles something unintelligible as he grabs the rumpled sheets and pulls them over their entangled bodies. The smirk on his face as he gives in to sleep says what he couldn't. He won't tell her. He'll show her.

Tomorrow.

**A/N: Next: A day off leads to...?**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: My fears hunt me down, capturing my memories. The frontier of loss. They try to escape across the street. (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, some characters are much younger than canonically written, and it's set very early in the history of the show. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

After a home cooked breakfast, one which she'd expected to be uncomfortable but thoroughly enjoyed, she'd taken the ride with him to drop off his kids at school. She'd loved watching him with them, the pure happiness and intense love is always profoundly clear when he's with his kids. The ride home had been quiet except for his humming and singing along with the radio, and some part of her had swooned as if he were a rock star, as if he were singing to her. Maybe he had been.

Now, as they sit on the couch and she flips through several channels of nothing, she wonders if it's time to broach a topic she's ignored for long enough. "You never told me what Cragen wanted. When he called you this morning, it sounded…"

"It was nothing, uh, nothing important," he says before she can finish. He lets out a huff. "Just told me the money for the new filing cabinet and chairs are coming out of my paycheck."

She raises and eyebrow. "Chairs?"

He licks his lips and says, "I, uh, I broke two of the metal folding chairs in the box, after they took Malecuso down to holding." He exhales and scratches the back of his head. "Why do you think we got the day off?"

"You did what? When? Where the hell was I?" she asks, widened eyes trained on him.

"Obviously not in the room with me," he quips. "Look, it's fine, Cragen understood that, uh, under the circumstances I was more pissed off and upset than I would've been if…" he stiffens and shakes his head. "If it wasn't...if they weren't…" he can't say it. He's just dropped his kids off at school, he doesn't need to make himself worried enough to go pick them up.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she turns off the television and twists her body to face him more directly.

He slides a hand over the short sleeve of her pink tee and sighs. "I promised you I wouldn't let myself lash out like that, fuck, and I know that I...I swore I'd be okay." He shrugs. "I guess I didn't have as much control over my anger as I thought. Maybe it's gonna take more time, but...I promised."

"Yeah, you promised me that you'd keep yourself under control, and you did. You broke a couple of chairs, not that bastard's legs." She sees him smile slightly and then she rests a hand on his thigh. "Is that what last night was about? Why you told me about your father?"

He nods and says, "I had to tell you why I'm so angry all the time, or at least...why I was. I let a lot of that bullshit go, last night, with you." He rubs his lips together and reaches for her. "Forgive me?" he smirks and looks into her eyes.

She blinks once and feels his hand slip over her knee, up her thigh, slowly sliding between her legs. She holds her breath and blinks again, and she gasps when she sees his eyes still on her, his gaze now hot, intense. "What are you…"

She doesn't say anything else, she can't because he moves too fast and doesn't give her the chance. His lips slam over hers, his hand finds its way to her clothed slit, he presses and rubs her through her thin yoga pants as he kisses her madly.

He feels her relent, moans when her arms wrap around his neck, and he pulls and tugs on her black leggings to get his hands where he so desperately needs them. He craves skin to skin with her, always. "Liv," he mumbles, "You're so fucking beautiful." He whispers the words right into her ear, as if he believes that it will magically make her believe him. He works two fingers into her, thrusts and twists them fast, furiously working her to a quick and powerful climax.

She's taken completely by surprise by how soon she's quaking. Her fingers and toes curl, her body tightens. "Jesus Christ, Elliot, she cries, cumming with a growl and shaking legs. "Oh, my God, what the hell brought…"

"Had the urge," he pants, still kissing her. "Needed to watch you, feel you…" he trails off on a grunt as he straightens out her pants and then he sighs. "I, uh... I have a question for you...I need an honest answer."

"Um," her mind races with a thousand questions he could be asking her, all of which would terrify her, excite her, make her wet, make her happy, and make her cry all at once. "What?" She takes a breath and tries to calm herself down, runs her fingers up and down his back. "Okay, ask," she whispers. Her thighs clench as her entire body throbs with slight aftershocks.

He chuckles knowingly, biting his lip, and he kisses her softly as he whispers, "Come upstairs with me." He chuckles at her crooked brow. "That's not the question," he tells her, and he scoops her up as he stands. He takes her hand and leads her up the staircase, pulling her into his bedroom before she can protest. "My question…" he let's go of her hand and moves to the closet. He opens it, shoves a few boxes on the top shelf around and reaches into the back. He grabs a black box and takes a slow, deep breath as he brings it down and lays it on the bed. "Is about this."

She watches him open it, and her eyes widen when she sees that it's filled with leather straps and metal buckles. Clearly handcuffs were a stepping stone. Training wheels. Chills run down her spine and she takes two slow steps forward. She reaches into the box and fingers the first buckle she comes to. "Who…" she looks at him, her eyes answer the rest of her question.

"Well, that's...that's my question," he says. He lifts two leather cuffs out of the box and plays with the clasps as he speaks. "It's happening, both ways, here. My question is...who goes first?" He turns to her fully and says, "I've been a controlling bastard for the last couple of weeks, baby, I know that, and you have been so fucking incredible about it, but there's a part of me...I told you this, I need to give up that control sometimes, too, and I figured...with the kids out of the house and nothing to worry about but ourselves for a couple of hours, it's the perfect chance for us to…"

She silences him by ripping the leather cuffs out of his hands, kissing him hard, and whispering, "Strip, Stabler."

He's taken aback a bit, but he smirks and keeps his eyes glued to hers as he slowly pulls his tee shirt over his head. His heart pounds as he watches her unravel the straps and loop them through the rings on the wrist and ankle cuffs. He can feel his palms start to sweat, his dick stiffens up as he unzips and drops his jeans. He kicks them away and asks, "What do you want me to do, now?"

"Get on the bed," she tells him, and she licks her lips as he does as he's told. She wraps the cuffs one by one around his wrists and ankles and then she takes a moment to smooth her hands along the curves and edges of his body. She hears him moan, sees his dick twitch as she grazes his thighs, and then she pulls away from him and ties the straps to the corner posts of the canopy bed. She pulls tightly, spreading his legs wide and latching his arms over his head. "Too tight?" she asks as she buckles him down.

"God, no," he says on a moan, and the anticipation makes his heart beat faster and harder. He watches, then, with wide open eyes, as she takes off her clothes. His mouth goes dry and he finds it harder to breathe. "Fuck," he spits, and he feels his cock twitch again.

She smiles coyly at him, loving the way she affects him, and she crawls up onto the bed, over him, and straddles him just below his waist, her ass on his thighs. "Tell me what to do," she says to him, there's a hint of lust in her voice.

"You're in control, here," he says, and he pulls against the straps to make his point. He notices the look she's giving him, swallows the lump in his throat, and he realizes. She's asking him how he wants her to test his limits, how far he wants to be pushed. "I want to watch you, baby," he whispers. "Make yourself cum for me, the way I would," he commands, and he bucks his hips involuntarily, needing something he's purposefully resisting. "If I could."

She's nervous but she hides it well as she leans back slightly. One hand begins to move slowly toward her wet heat, the other slips up his shaft. They both moan at her touch, but neither blinks. Her lip catches between her teeth but she focuses on him, the way he feels in her hand, the fact that this is for him.

He rolls his eyes and moans but then forces himself to lift his head. "Oh, my God," he breathes. He watches her fingers disappear slowly, working their way into her, then out, and he moans as they glisten in the dim light. She's so fucking wet and he moves fast, forgetting he's strapped down. He grunts when he's stopped and his frustrations only worsen as she starts to stroke him faster. "So fucking incredible, fuck, harder, baby."

She scrapes her teeth over her lip again and her head falls back. Rolling her hips in a wonton rhythm, she tightens her grip on him and speeds up her strokes, her other hand begins to twist and her fingers flick. She's brought back to moments alone in her apartment, nights when he'd been only a fantasy. She fuels herself by remembering that he's not a fantasy anymore. She knows what it's like to kiss him, she knows how he tastes, how he feels inside of her. She knows how to make him moan, how to make him cum, and she knows what it feels like to be completely consumed by him. "Elliot," she moans, the thoughts of him working their magic as she brings herself closer and closer to the brink.

"Liv, fuck, baby," he grunts, his eyes strain to stay open and he yanks on his restraints. "God, I can't," he grunts and pulls harder on his cuffs, bucks his hips, and growls out, "Harder. Faster. Fucking cum for me baby."

Hearing him sets her off and as she tries to jerk him harder and faster the way he wants, she bucks and writhes and brings herself over the edge. "Oh, fuck, Elliot," she moans, "I'm gonna cum." She looks at him again, her body rocking against his, and she stares into his eyes as she cums. Her head drops forward and she shakes almost violently, the force of her orgasm makes her tighten her grip on him even more. She trembles as she curls herself over and looks into his eyes as she feels him throb in her hand. "You like that?"

"Fuck, yes," he's breathless and tense. "So fucking hot." He feels the way her body thrusts, feels how wet and hot she is, and he's so fucking close to his own explosion. "Baby don't...don't stop. Please, don't stop," he begs and he fights against the straps and cuffs as he cums, shooting off with a harsh curse and loud grunt. "Don't…" he moans. "God, don't stop," he says through gritted teeth.

This is what he craves, she knows. This is why he needed to be restrained, why he needed her to take control. Still panting and shaking, she continues stroking him. Beneath her, he whimpers and growls, and moans her name. His body convulses and his legs and arms thrash against his holds. She bends over further and takes him into her mouth.

"Holy shit," he gasps, and he struggles harder to fight his restraints, the intense pain and incredible pleasure becoming too much for him. "Liv, fuck, shit," he pants, and he feels the burning take over. His head thrashes from side to side, his hips buck and his legs twist in attempts to both get away from her excruciating touch and make her touch him even more. Conflict, and resolution. He closes his eyes and he feels the pressure, the stress, the fury he's been holding onto all dissipate and evaporate and he's left with sweet surrender. "Oh, my God," he breathes, his stomach clenching, and it's multi-faceted.

"This is what you want," she says, eyes turned up, and she watches him open his eyes. She holds his stare as she lowers her hot mouth around him again and takes him down her throat. She hums and takes pride in the way he whimpers and shivers and nods. Slipping away from him, she shimmies her body up a bit and asks, "Or is this what you want?"

His eyes widen and he yanks on the straps hard, watching and feeling as she holds his reddened, hot cock in one hand and slips the tip of it up and down her slit. "Tell me," she demands in a whisper. She sinks onto him slightly and pulls back. She does it again. "Answer me, Elliot."

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, blows it out resoundingly through a small round mouth, and when he opens his eyes he bucks his hips. "What the fuck do you think?"

With a smug grin, she slowly lowers herself onto him, she hears him curse and seethe. Giving him a moment, she stays still except for her hands, which scratch and graze his heaving chest. "You feel so good," she tells him with a slight rock of her hips. Her nails take down his chest again. "So fucking good, El."

He blinks and breathes and then he pulls at every shred of strength he has and thrusts upward. "Fuck, so do you," he growls. "God, you have no fucking idea…" he thrusts again. "Fucking move, Liv. Please, baby." He holds his breath as she rides him, starting slow and picking up speed with every one of his upward hits.

It's killing him not to touch her, he moans and grunts as he fights his cuffs and straps. His back hurts, his knees crack and pop as he bends and flexes trying to move harder, faster, deeper, and he realizes this is why he needs to be tied down when he gives her the reins, because he will fight for control. "Fuck, baby," he growls, and he strains his neck to get closer to her.

His wish is her command and she arcs over and grabs the sides of his face, kissing him madly as she tightens around him. The kiss catches her scream and muffles his grunting cussing as they cum together for the first time, his body slams up into hers as she wraps herself so tightly around him it's as if she's another restraint.

"Shit, fuck, Liv," he grits out, trying to thrust again. He feels her shaking against him, feels her body trembling and clenching, and he can hear her shuddering sobs as she buries her head in his neck. He slams up once more, making sure he's given her everything he has, and he goes limp and still. He moves his head to kiss her, anywhere and everywhere that he can reach, and he whispers, "God, I love you."

There's a moment of pure silence, not even their ragged breaths can be heard, but without any words, they say it all. She drops a kiss to his chest and reaches a weak arm up to loosen his left wrist from its cuff. Immediately, he wraps his arm around her body, holding her tighter, and kisses her forehead. "My other hand."

Obediently, she unhooks his right arm and moans when she's clutched and wound up in him. She sighs and snuggles against him, moans as she feels his hands smoothing over her back and down to her ass. "Shit!" she yells suddenly, feeling the hard smack of his heavy hand as it slaps down onto her skin. Her eyes narrow as she looks up at him.

He smacks her ass again, harder, and the way she moans and rocks into him makes him hard again. He rubs her pinkening ass, soothing it for a moment, and then he bites his lip and smacks her one more time, making her moan louder, throw her head back, and hurts herself forward which pushes him deeper into her. "We're finding our way, huh?" He winks and he kisses her hard, one hand rolling up her body and winding in her hair.

She feels his other hand still caressing and squeezing her ass. As she kisses him, she moans when his fingers work between her cheeks and tease, prodding every so slightly. It makes her quiver and buck her hips again.

"Your ass," he groans, "Is so fucking perfect." He pushes one of his fingers against her just a bit. He moans as he runs his tongue along her lips. "Have you ever, uh…"

"No," she says, saving him the pain of having to bring up her sexual history. She doesn't need to ask in return because she knows that his life with Kathy was near-saintly. "You want to…"

"Fuck," he chuckles, interrupting her. "I used to wonder, I mean, what guy doesn't, right? But with Kathy, it was more of a morbid curiosity. I knew it was never gonna happen, and it wasn't something I had an actual desire for, but…" he squeezes her ass again as he moans. "With you, shit, I need to experience everything I've ever questioned, thought about, fantasized about, and since the moment I met you I have been fucking fantasizing about this, you, your perfect fucking body." He kisses her again and whispers, "I love you, and I know we said anything goes with us, but if it's something you're not…"

"I trust you," she whispers back, stopping him, and she looks down into his eyes. Without looking away, without blinking, she moves her left hand and slowly slips the cuff into his open palm. "El," she says, "Your turn."

**A/N: Next: Are they...are they gonna…?**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: My fears hunt me down, capturing my memories. The frontier of loss. They try to escape across the street. (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, some characters are much younger than canonically written, and it's set very early in the history of the show. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

He makes sure she's tied down loosely enough to allow her legs and back to move and keep her comfortable, but tightly enough to keep her restrained. He trembles as he runs a hand down her back, taking in the sight of her on all fours, strapped to the bed, the way he's envisioned her in a thousand midnight fantasies.

His fingers grip her hips for a moment, and then they slide down to the object of his obsession, her ass fills his palms and he squeezes and slaps and the way she moans and jerks makes him shiver. Both of his hands smack down onto her ass again, he hears her gasp and moan, and he chuckles as he spreads her cheeks. He gazes down at her body, at the sight of her toned, tight ass open to him. He lowers himself to her, closes his eyes, and he whispers, "Good lord, you have no fucking idea…"

She can't hear the rest of his words; she's gone temporarily deaf. Her body freezes and every nerve in her body ignites into icy flames as his tongue swipes and licks at a part of her that has never been given such attention. "Oh, my God," she breathes, rolling her hands in an attempt to grip the straps that bind her. Her head flies back suddenly, her spine arcs, her toes curl. "Jesus Christ!"

He's only moved one finger into her, barely up to his first knuckle, and he's already preparing himself for the intense tightness he's about to feel encasing his cock. "Liv," he moans, pushing his finger slightly deeper. If this is going to happen, he needs to make sure he's not going to hurt her, and there's no harm in enjoying every second of it in the process. "Fucking...God, Olivia." He slowly, carefully pushes another finger into her, making sure she can handle what's coming, as his other hand reaches for a small bottle. He flips the top, turns it over, squeezes, lets a trickle of clear, slippery liquid fall onto his thick, hard, dick. He closes and drops the bottle back to the bed and starts to slowly stroke his cock as he twists his trapped fingers. "Holy fucking shit," he moans. This is happening.

Stars light up behind her closed eyelids as she feels him behind her, stretching her, filling her the way no one else ever has, or ever will. She seethes when he pulls his hand away from her ass; her muscles tense when she feels him moving, and she knows that she needs to brace herself for an intrusion that's beyond unfamiliar. Her fingers grip the leather and nylon straps that are keeping her from flying off the bed.

With a quivering breath, he trails his fingertips along the curves of her back, hips, ass, thighs...drags them back up, down again, and he tries so hard not to cry as he positions himself and slips his hands back to the rounds of her ass. "If I hurt you, baby...stop me."

She gives him an absent nod and moaned affirmation, but she has no intention of stopping him. They've both been too curious and too stifled for too long. After she inhales, she feels him spreading her cheeks again and holds her breath. Silent gasps escape as she mentally begs her body to relax and let him in; he slowly prods at her with the tip of his dick.

He watches, transfixed, as her body stretches while he thrusts forward so fucking slowly. "Holy shit," he exhales, driving on, working into her unexplored territory. "Fucking Christ," he moans, his hands grip her tighter as he moves on still, and he feels her clenching, squeezing, unintentionally resisting. "Fuck, Liv," he groans.

Her body bends and breaks at his command and there's a delicious burn engulfing her whole being. "Elliot," she moans, it sounds like a song. "Please," she whispers, and she feels that her begging is something that turns him on, his dick twitches and its current location makes her quake. "El, please," she whispers, backing up into him. She can't take the torment anymore and she's been hanging on the precipice between pain and pleasure for longer than she can stand.

He bends over her, one hand remains on her ass and the other winds in her hair. He twists, squeezes, pulls. "You want this?" He hears her soft, almost submissive answer. He yanks on her hair again. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she says, and the smirk on her face isn't well hidden at all. She moans as he slaps her ass again, grips her, and pulls her hair again as he begins to slowly move, out and back in, deeper every time. "Oh, my God," she almost yells, her voice has never been filled with such a melting pot of emotions, those words never sounding so gravelly.

"Baby," he breathes, and he grips her tighter, pulls her hair back to force her head to bend. He looks into her eyes and sees that she's feeling everything he is. "Fuck," he hisses, and he can tell that it's safe to move faster, harder, deeper.

Her jaw drops and the moan that fills the room is a truly ethereal one. "Elliot," she grunts, her body meeting every one of his thrusts, "Oh, fuck, God, Elliot." Her eyes close and she moans as she presses her lips together, the way he's pulling her hair and hitting into her makes her body sing. She'd been hoping to be able to give him as many _firsts _as possible, there aren't many for her given her less than secular youth, but this is proving to be the most incredible experience of her life and she's thankful that it's a definite first for them both. "Elliot, oh, God."

He grunts and yanks her hair again, making her yelp, and her eyes shoot open and he smiles down at her. He bends forward, kisses her forehead, and he feels the tightening in his balls that means he's not going to last much longer. He knew he wouldn't, not like this. "Fuck," he spits, and he lurches forward, kisses her hard, the awkward angle and uncomfortable bend not an issue in the moment. He slams into her until he feels the insurmountable pressure and then he lets her go, watches her flatten her back out, and he gazes down as his dick works into and out of her ass. He curls a hand under her body, finds her swollen clit, and he rubs and plays until he hears her telling whimper.

"Elliot," she cries, and her legs begin to shake. "Please, please," she can't hold on anymore, her knees are giving out and she's harboring an orgasm so tremulously powerful that it scares her. "El! Oh, fuck!" she shouts, her head flying back, and she cums with a force that shoots her body as high off the bed as possible, and she's thankful for the straps keeping her from hurting herself. "Oh, my God, Elliot," she whimpers again. The indescribable feeling overtakes her and she cums again immediately , softer but just as intense.

"Oh, fuck, baby. Fuck," he pants, and then without the usual warning, he cums harder than he'd expected. He stops moving as he grunts and rubs her clit more vigorously until he feels her trembling. "Cum for me," he commands, "One more time. Come on. Give it to me, Olivia. I need to feel you cum again." He starts to slowly move, his need to bring her to a third release meets his own fetish for pushing himself beyond any sensitive limitations.

Her body shakes almost violently as she whimpers and softly moans his name. Her legs finally give and her chest and stomach drop to the bed as she gives him what he wants and cums for a third blissful time. "El," she whispers, every muscle in her body jerking and spasming, "Elliot."

He moans as he collapses on top of her, kissing and biting the skin of her back, her ass, and he chuckles when he sees the remnants on her skin. He smooths a hand over her, slips it between her cheeks, slides it between her wet folds and then roughly pushes two fingers into her and flicks, knowing that despite the intensity of the last forty minutes, he had been neglectful of this particular part of her. He hears her moan, feels her clench and shake, and slips his fingers out of her core and into his mouth.

She hears his satisfied moans and feels him moving to unlatch her buckles and loosen her straps. Her heart melts at the way he massages her wrists and ankles once they're freed. The way he kisses them, rubs them, makes her swoon, and she knows for certain that she is more than just a way to exert his sexual freedom and repressed prowess. He loves her.

He brushes the straps off of the bed and crawls up into the middle of the mattress. With a soft moan, he scoops her up into his arms and lays her over him like a blanket, looks deeply into her eyes, and as his own fill with tears he kisses her. His fingers comb through her hair as softly mumbled prayers and words of gratitude fall from his lips to hers.

Her hands slip up and cup his face, her still sore legs wrap around his waist and she works as close to him as she can. "El, I…"

"I love you," he says before she finishes. He blinks once and then stares into her big, brown eyes. He brushes her hair back, kisses her again, and he shakes his head. "I've never…" he inhales. This is hard for him, the words fight for life. "I've never loved anyone the way...the way I love you. I've never been this close to anyone, never trusted anybody the way...the way I trust you. So you have to understand, when I get mad...or upset...or violent...ninety percent of the time, it's because I'm…"

"Scared," she says, nodding. "Me, too. El, you...you have no idea...how terrified I am." She sees the question in his eyes as he slips a hand down her back. "I'm so fucking scared, of you, of this relationship...because every one I've ever had ended so fucking badly, and if I lose you…" she stops. Shaking her head, she can't bring herself to say anything else. Her head falls to his. She takes a slow, deep breath. "I wouldn't survive," she whispers. "I couldn't. Not now."

"God, me either," he sighs and kisses her forehead again. He shivers as she slides against him, her wet heat slips up and down his too-sensitive shaft. He moans and says, "That was...fucking incredible. I've never done...any of that before, and I think...it had to be you. All of this. What's happening here. It...God, it was always meant to be you. I'm meant to be with you, baby." He kisses her again, slowly, deeply, and squeezes her tightly.

There's a difference in the way he holds her, a deep connection that didn't exist until now. It's something they're both fully aware of and something that they're desperately clinging to from this moment on, despite the risks they're taking that they've ignored until now.

She nuzzles against his chest, drops a soft kiss to the spot of skin between his pecs.

"Are you all right?" He asks the question in a whisper, his hold on her tightening more. He closes his eyes and feels her nod against his chest, then he grins. "You, uh, you enjoyed that, didn't you?" His sly smirk makes his words sound more teasing than hopeful.

"Oh, hell yes," she laughs, her hips thrust and they both moan. "I never thought I would, but with you...God, it was incredible." She lifts her head. "Everything with you is so fucking incredible."

There's a moment of silence as they look into each other's eyes, and he moves in for another long kiss. His hands wrap themselves up in her hair and they're lost, whispering soft confessions and murmuring seductive words and heartfelt promises. Something makes him stop and he pulls away, her tears are landing on his fingertips. "Baby what's…"

"I told you," she breathes, the shame of her admission weighing on her more than the self-loathing from letting herself get wrapped up in him. "I'm so fucking scared."

"Fuck, me, too." He whispers, and he kisses away the salty droplets as they roll down her cheeks. "But that means it's real, right? We're afraid because this...this is everything, now." He brushes the pads of his thumbs under her eyes and says, "I made the same promise to you as a lover that I made to you as a partner. I'm never gonna be the reason you're hurt or in trouble. I keep you safe out in the field, at home, and in bed...always. Like I said, you're mine." He bucks his hips and it shifts and guides his dick into her. He moans and grunts once, then says, "Mine, you're all mine, and that means you're my responsibility. We both know that I'm never gonna risk blowing that." He winks, kisses her again, and moves one of his hands to pull a blanket over them.

There's no denying it now, their universe has shifted.

She settles against him and says, "As long as you're mine," and lets her eyes close. She feels the way his heart beats right next to hers, the same steady and hard rhythm. Her aching body reminds her of what a tremendous gift they'd just given each other, and her mind races with questions she's afraid to ask, she's afraid of the answers.

He eyes the clock on the end table as he runs his fingers through her hair. With a sigh he kisses the top of her head and follows her to sleep. He knows she's got a million questions, but he's hoping that in a few hours, when the kids come home, she'll be able to answer one of his.

If nothing else gets in the way of his asking it.

**A/N: Next: Questions? And how well managed is Elliot's anger? Hm. **


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: My fears hunt me down, capturing my memories. The frontier of loss. They try to escape across the street. (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, some characters are much younger than canonically written, and it's set very early in the history of the show. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

He has every intention of asking her, a question that's been hanging on his tongue like dew on a leaf for hours. Every ten minutes, he opens his mouth and loses his nerve, then says something stupid about work or something he saw on the news.

The kids are obliviously sitting with her, doing homework and reading at the dining room table, and he's pacing back and forth in the living room forgetting how words work. He gathers the strength, grows the balls, narrows his eyes, stomps toward her with determination in his eyes. "Liv, I have to ask you…"

She looks up at him, he sees a sparkle in her eyes he's never noticed before and he smiles. He takes in the sight of his son on her lap, a book in his hands. She's barely even been in the house for seventy-two hours and she's got his five-year-old reluctant reader engrossed in a novel. Of course, he forgets what he's going to ask, tilts his head, and says, "What do you want for dinner?"

She chuckles and picks Dickie up while she stands, and as she sets him down on her vacated chair, she shakes her head. "You and the kids have to figure that out without me, tonight." She moves toward him and grazes the fabric of his worn-thin tee shirt. "Not that I want to leave, but, uh…" she clears her throat. "I should, ya know, give you guys some space. Kathy just left, it's still new, they need to figure out what that means, and I'm not sure heading into work wearing your clothes will go over well with Cragen." She tugs sheepishly on her shirt, which is one of his. It's too large, but it's the most comfortable thing she's ever worn.

It takes a lot for him to rip his eyes away from her legs, knowing that those are his sweatpants rubbing against her skin, slipping in and out of the crevices of her body. He licks his lips and his eyes travel upward, over her chest, which is housed in a tee-shirt he hasn't worn since high school and only keeps because he's too lazy to clean out his closet. Marveling at how beautiful she looks in a messy bun and no makeup, he pulls on the drawstrings of his own blue sweats to ease the pressure he's suddenly feeling. "I'll drive you over to pick up some things, I mean, after dinner. Maybe we can take the kids to that ice cream shop on Forty-Second, make the drive worth it for them." He kisses the tip of her nose. "Stay."

It might have been the gentle commanding desperation in his words. Maybe it's the look in his eyes as he said it. Perhaps it's the playfully intimate kiss. Odds are, all three are reasons for her sudden panic. "I need to go home," she whispers. She moves and cringes when she feels his hand clasp around her wrist, and the simple question he asks breaks her heart. "Because if I don't go home tonight," she exhales and looks back at him. "I won't go home, at all."

"I don't see the problem," he retorts with a wink. He gives her a wickedly sinful smirk and pulls her closer to him, nuzzles her nose with his, but her resistance to his charms scares him. "Okay, what's…" he backs up. "I fucked up this morning, is that it? I pushed you too far, and now…"

"God, no," she rolls her eyes and shakes her head as her gaze drops to her feet. She bites her lip, finding it hard to remember the last time she's seen such lush carpet in a house she was welcomed into and the thought makes her stomach ache. He's out of her league, she knows it. He's older, more established in the field. He's a family man with four kids and technically he still has a wife. He's a homeowner, he has an IRA and a stockbroker, credit cards, a car. His life is settled in every way that hers isn't. She knows she can't offer him anything but an intense connection she can't explain and an outlet for his aggressive temper and volatile sexual energy.

"Liv?" his voice cracks, soft and concerned. "What is it?" Every single part of his body is shaking like a pair of maracas and he squeezes her hand.

Another long sigh and she looks up at him. "I'm sorry," she bites her lip, "I just...I can't...I need to go home." She pulls away from him and rushes to grab her bag and coat, but he's on her before she reaches the front door. She tries to fight him off but Lord knows it's impossible. "Elliot, come on, you know I have to go."

"Like Hell," he snaps in a whisper. "What the fuck happened? I thought that today was…"

"Fucking incredible," she hisses, her eyes darting to table. Once she sees the kids are completely unaware, she looks back at him. "Let's not pretend this is suddenly a serious relationship, here, okay? We shouldn't get used to being together twenty-four-fucking-seven, and I shouldn't get used to being with you and the kids. It's not fair to them, and it's fucking not fair to me."

"What's not fucking fair, Olivia, is having the most fucking incredible day of my life ruined by the bullshit coming out of your mouth, right now," he spits, and he knows he's gripping her wrists a bit too tightly as he pulls her into him, but he's not sorry. "What the fuck are you talking about?" His eyes narrow. "You think, what, I'm just gonna let Kathy walk right back in here and…"

"Well, she's your wife, so yes!" Her heart pounds and there's a part of her that instantly regrets yelling at him. She takes a breath and her lungs fill with his aftershave and his musk and she weakens just enough to give in and slip her hands into his. "She's still your wife, and I'm your...partner. We need to think about what that means, and until she's not your wife anymore, we shouldn't be treating this like it's…"

"Permanent?" Elliot scoffs, his grip on her strengthens, and he twists her around and pulls her coat and bag out of her hands. He tosses them over his shoulder onto the floor and then wraps his thick, rough hands around her shoulders to pull her behind the couch, shielding the kids from what might be happening. "What's this really about? You don't think I'm ready for commitment, here? No, I get it, you're afraid because I am fucking ready." He sees the look in her eyes and he doesn't intentionally lower his voice to his dominant tone but it happens. "Ya know what? We're adults, here, Olivia. Obviously, it's not going too fast for me, so if you think it's too fucking fast for you, just tell me!"

"Shit, Elliot, yes!" She claws her hands through her hair and says, "I already told you I was scared, do you know how hard it is for me to fucking admit that? Spending the whole day here with you, being with the kids the last few days...I can't let myself fall in love with the idea of having a family. This is your family, not mine. I shouldn't…"

Her words are silenced by his kiss. His lips and tongue invade hers, his hands dig into the skin of her shoulders, and one leg works its way between hers and presses up, finding her heat under the thick cotton. "I want you to love my kids the way that you do love them. Fuck, you're allowed to love them." He kisses her again as one of his hands slides off of her shoulder and wraps itself up in her hair. "I know why you're scared, and I am telling you, again," he yanks, it makes her moan. "That you have nothing to be afraid of, baby, not with me. What else can you…"

"People are gonna talk," she interrupts, staring into his eyes as her body tenses against his. "Fuck, people at work are already talking. They have been for years. I don't want to put your kids in the middle of anything that's gonna come crashing down the minute the brass makes you…"

"You think anyone in the fucking world, especially the crooked pieces of shit in the department, could make me do anything?" He tugs on her hair again and kicks his knee up further. "You honestly think anyone could make me give you up? Really?" He laughs but there's a darkness in it, his lips curl in the same way they do when he's about to get a confession: it's grim victory. "No fucking way. You are mine, Benson, in every fucking way, and this? Why isn't it a serious relationship? Because we haven't been officially together long enough? Because we fucked before I took you on an actual date? Or is it just because you're too scared to label it?" He tugs her hair again, leans into her, and his voice drops with lust-laced conviction as he says, "This is the most serious relationship I've ever been in, time means fucking nothing, and I've been in love with you longer than you think so who's fucking rushing anything?"

Her eyes close for a moment and she mentally berates herself for not running far enough, fast enough, and for not wanting to in the first place. "Convince me," she breathes as she opens her eyes. She's looking right at him, her soul begging him for everything she needs. "You know me, I need proof, validity. Convince me that I'm not setting myself up here."

"Close your eyes," he softly commands, and as soon as she does, he moves in. He brings both of his hands up, slowly skimming her skin, and he cups her face as he covers her mouth with his lips. He pries them open, slips his tongue between them, runs it along the length of the tips of her teeth and then presses it against hers. Matching moans are born, live, and die in the space between their kiss, and her hands find safety in the hem of his threadbare shirt. He feels her pulling him to her and it makes him deepen his kiss.

She feels everything he's trying to get her to feel, and as her fingers slip up between the shirt and his skin, she gives in. She knows. It's not fear that makes her run, it's habit, and one she's now breaking for him.

He moans again, his lungs begin to burn but he can't break. He's lost, consumed, and it's only when the sound of childish giggling and groaning hits his ears that he slowly pulls away from her. He's laughing, happily now, and still holds her head in his hands.

She smiles, rubbing her nose against his, and she whispers, "Guess they saw that one."

"Guess so," he whispers back, and he softly pecks her lips again. "They're only laughing because they have never, I can guarantee you this, seen me kiss Kathy like this. I never have, baby. I've never kissed anyone the way I kiss you. I've never felt..."

"Me either," she stops him and her eyes dart up to look into his. "I'm still scared, I can't lie and say…"

He lets out a hard breath and talks over her. "Oh, me, too," he chuckles. "But, uh, the longer I'm with you, the less afraid I am, so I think it's safe to say that I need you to stay to..."

"Oh," her eyes widen slightly, realization hitting her in the face. He needs her to stay so he doesn't crack, so there's someone with him who keeps his head level and his blood cool. She'd been so focused on her own fear and self-preservation that she completely negated the fact that he needs her to stay with him because he doesn't trust himself to stay in complete control without her now. "I'm here, okay, I'll stay, we just…" she kisses him and whispers. "We have to keep each other grounded, then, right? You keep me from running and I'll keep you from flying off the handle."

"Bingo," he kisses her forehead and closes his eyes, relief flooding him, and he lets out a tense breath. "Pizza," he says, and he moves away from Olivia with a final sweet kiss to her lips. "Anything on it?"

"You know what I want," she says, and she's taken aback by the suddenly smoky and arrogant expression on his face.

He licks his lips. "Yeah, I do, and you know exactly what I want, which is why this fucking works, on the job, at home, in bed, we fucking work...right?" He narrows his eyes and steps back to her. He leans in, right to her ear, and whispers, "No safe words, remember? There's no way out of this, Liv." He kisses her neck and slaps her ass lightly. "I love you." He hears her moan and laughs to himself as he turns and runs toward his kids.

She watches as he chases them around the couch, grabs each child and tickles them almost mercilessly, blows raspberries on their tummies and ruffles their hair, kisses them and tells them he loves them, over and over. Her heart sings and her breath quickens and she knows he's right. There's no way out. She's in too deep already and they haven't even scratched the surface of his issues or her secrets. It's time to give him what he's given her; open her barely healed wounds, let him into the parts of herself she's been trying to bury because he knows how to make her love them again. They can heal each other, if she lets go, if she lets herself feel."I love you, too," she whispers. She heads over to him just as he ushers the kids up the stairs to wash their hands and change out of their uniforms. She works her way behind him while he pulls out his cell phone and dials the number for his favorite pizza place.

He's halfway through ordering three large pies with the works when he feels her hands on his shoulders. "Yeah, that's it. Thanks," he says, stifling a moan as she rubs and squeezes. He hangs up and tosses his phone onto the coffee table and then drops his head back. "Is this your way of apologizing for freaking out on me?"

"No," she rubs harder, working out the tension she knows was caused by her in the first place. "This is my way of telling you…" she leans down to him, works her fingers harder and deeper into his tight muscles. "I really am yours."

The way she says it, the precise tone and inflection, makes her meaning clear. He knows what she's saying, what she's offering, and every single hair on his body stands on end and his cock twitches to life in his sweats. "Yeah?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. He turns, but she still rubs him down, his shoulders and his chest melt under her touch, and he whispers, "You're sure?"

She nods as she works her hands down to his lower back, the tips of her fingers teasing at the curve of his ass. "Yes," she says, and she's unblinkingly staring into his eyes so he knows she's certain.

He gazes down at her, the barely three-inch height difference making it an intimate glare. His jaw tightens as he struggles to keep breathing, and he knows what had almost scared her off. She's younger than him, just enough to be considered slightly scandalous. She's technically still a rookie, as Tucker had pointed out, which makes power struggles more of a challenge. She's so damn assertive at work because she has to be in order to survive, and she's asking him to take the pressure off when she clocks out, and he will gladly do it. She's got the freedom to bar hop and have casual sex with whoever the hell she wants, but the mere thought of her doing it makes him sick. He knows what she's sacrificing for him, what they're sacrificing for each other. "After dinner," he says, "We'll take the kids into the city for ice cream, swing by your place and grab some more of your stuff, and then…there's something I have to ask you, and I..."

His phone rings before he can finish, and he grunts out a string of obscenities as he dives across the couch for his phone. "Stabler," he barks, annoyed. He walks in a straight line in front of the couch as he listens. "What? When?" He swipes a heavy hand over the top of his head. "How the fuck did that happen? No, no, I'm not…" he lets out another growl, lower and softer than before, and he grits his teeth as he turns and paces in the other direction. "You fucking tell Kathy that I…" he pauses because his eyes land on Olivia. He takes a deep breath and he smiles as he reaches for her hand. "You, uh, tell Kathy that if she wants the house, that's all she's getting. Thanks, Al," he says, and he hangs up, shoves the phone into his pocket, and says, "See? If you weren't here, I would have probably cursed out my lawyer and thrown my phone across the room." He kisses her forehead.

"What, uh, what was that about?" she asks, though she has a pretty good idea.

"Terms and agreements for an amicable and uncontested divorce," he spouts with a scoff. "Those terms now include either splitting all marital assets which would mean she gets half of fucking everything I own since I fucking married her when I was fucking eighteen, or the house and call it a day." He takes a deep breath, lts it out slowly, and says, "So, while we're busting ass at work tomorrow, I need to scope out some places in the…"

"Wait, you wanna move the kids out of Queens?" she asks, tilting her head. "Won't that interfere with their lives a little too much?"

He grins. "You mean their school, which is in Midtown? Their pediatrician, who's in Midtown? Oh, you must be thinking that moving to Manhattan will disrupt the piano lessons, which they take from this sweet old Polish man in…"

"Midtown," Olivia chuckles, nodding. "I'm warning you now, though, rent above Fourteenth street is hell for a cop." She folds her arms. "I'm in a single flat and I barely make it. Finding something with five bedrooms you can swing on your own is gonna be next to impossible."

Elliot bites his lip and rubs his forehead, nodding back at her. "Yeah, which is why, uh, maybe…" He takes her hand again, he loses himself in her eyes and he feels himself forgetting his question again. "It's not happening right now, ya know, we've got time, so when the time does come, I want you to…" he pauses. She'd been right before; Kathy's only been gone for four days. The fact that he's so ready and willing to ask her this now, when he couldn't bring himself to ask his wife of ten years for a blowjob, says so much about how immensely different and powerful what he has with Olivia truly is. The question he's been meaning to ask her all day is once again put aside, and a suggestion takes its place. "Maybe we should look for a place...together."

She can't speak. Words make no sense at the moment, she simply squeezes his hand and nods, because if she's willingly walking into hell with him now, by the time he has to hand the house over to Kathy, moving in with him would be a logical next step.

Like the one she will be taking with him tonight, if nothing else gets in the way.

**A/N: Next: Do they get to take that step? And Elliot blows up...but at whom?**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Like autumn leaves his sense fell from him. An empty glass of himself shattered somewhere within. (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, the timelines of some cases and details have been altered. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

Pizza became vendor-made hot dogs. Taking the kids for ice cream became leaving them with a sitter and promising to get them ice cream tomorrow. Swinging by her place to help her pack a few things became waiting in the car while she changed into the first suit she saw as fast as humanly possible. The night is completely shot to shit.

When she gets in the car, he starts it up as he looks at her. He smirks as he shifts out of park, because he notices she's still got her hair swooped up in a messy bun, she's still not wearing any makeup, and she looks so effortlessly beautiful.

"Eyes on the road, Stabler," she says, not looking at him and pretending his staring isn't making her blush. She hears him chuckle and as the car pulls away from the curb in front of her apartment, she sighs. A week ago, if anyone would have asked her if she was exactly where she thought she'd be at twenty-six, she would have said hell fucking yes. She'd graduated top of her class from Siena, a year ahead of schedule. She'd flown through the six months at the police academy, outrunning and outgunning the rest of the recruits. She'd found an affordable apartment in Midtown, on her own. She'd earned more commendations in her barely three years in uniform before the commissioner himself pulled her records and yanked her into the only unit she'd shown any interest in because the unit had needed someone like her. She made rank before earning her first hashmark, which must have set some sort of record, somewhere. She and her partner have been unstoppable for the last three years and she's due for a badge upgrade because of it. So, yes, on top of the fucking world is exactly where she'd hoped to be at twenty-fucking-six.

If you asked her the same question right now, she'd have a different answer. She never thought she'd be involved with a married man. She never thought that she would fall in love with her partner. Her nearly-thirty, hyper-Catholic, practically-famous partner. She never fucking thought she'd be slipping comfortably onto the submissive side of a dominant's bed. But, fuck, here she is, all of the fucking above. She shakes her head, tired of thinking about all the ways what she's doing is wrong, the way he'd so boldly demanded her to, and she looks at him with a soft smile. "What did Cragen say to you?"

He turns the wheel as he raises an eyebrow at her. "That we had a dead pro on the corner of…"

"He said something to you that got under your skin," she interrupts, and it scares her how well she knows him. She's never been able to read anyone the way she reads him, despite her extensive behavioral analysis training. "I saw it happen. I knew. Your jaw clenched, you balled up your fists so tightly that your knuckles turned white. You don't have to tell me, I just…" she swipes a few loose strands of hair out of her eyes. "Don't want you to head into this already hot under the collar."

"Nothing gets by you," he says with a huff. "Course not, that's why you're the youngest…" he shuts himself up, clears his throat, and turns down another street. "He just warned me not to slip up. Told me to keep my temper in check because he had to watch one Stabler blow a gasket, he didn't need a sequel." He hooks his fingers around the steering wheel as he grits his teeth. "I am not...my fucking...father."

"El, slow down, baby," she says gently, reaching slowly for the wheel. She drops a cool palm over one of his tense hands, and almost instantly his grip loosens. She sees his eyes flicker and he mellows out, the stunned look on his face tells her he didn't even realize he'd been stepping too hard on the gas. "I know that, your kids know that, everyone that matters...they know you are nothing like your father. Not...not the way Cragen thinks, anyway."

"I'm nothing like him!" Elliot yells, temper flaring up immediately. "What the fuck is that supposed to even mean? You didn't even fucking know my father, so how could you possibly see any of him in me?" He slams on the brake and swerves the car to the side of the road. "I have told you, repeatedly, that my issues have nothing to…"

"You told me," she stops him, her voice only loud enough to cut into his. She grabs both of his hands, flattens them out, rubs her fingers into his hot skin, and looks into his eyes. "That he was a good cop, trying to do the right thing. He wouldn't throw his friends under the bus, he didn't want to get involved with the bribery or the corruption. He may have lost his temper and his job because of it, but, fuck, he had a valid reason in the end, didn't he?" She works the tension and pressure out of his fingers and pulls each knuckle until it pops. She ignores the way his moans make her feel and she swallows hard before she says, "You get that from him, ya know. Your tenacity, your commitment to justice, what's right. I know you have never raised a hand to your wife, to your kids, and you never will. That's what makes you…"

"That's why Cragen thinks I'm just like him," he speaks, his voice soft, almost meek. He is staring at her hands as they massage the rage out of his, and he shakes his head as he works up the nerve to tell her the truth. "Um...do you...do you remember…" he snickers. "Of course you fucking remember. You remember every Goddamned thing, don't you?" He inhales, exhales, wiggles his fingers, lets out a moan, and then he speaks. "After we nailed Evelyn Prichard, after Lucy died...God, that beautiful little girl…" he takes another breath.

She tilts her head. "What is it?" she asks softly, her magic fingers now squeezing the tension and aggression out of his lower arms. She bites her lip when he moans again. "We don't have a lot of time, it's okay if you don't want to…"

He cuts her off. "I went to O'Malleys, uh, after I dropped you off, ya know, I couldn't go home. Not in the state I was in, and if I had gone with you back to your place we...well, we both know I would have, uh, unloaded on you in ways we weren't ready for yet." He winks, but his smile fades fast and he exhales a trembling breath. "Cragen came to tell me, uh, that Lucy was gone. I'm not a drinker, you know that, but I was plastered. Shitfaced. He asked me for my keys, told me he'd drive me home, was so...good about it."

"He's a recovering alcoholic," she says to him, a reminder he doesn't need. "So what happened, then? How did he go from treating you like a son to thinking you…"

"Because of the reason I was drinking in the first place," he interrupts yet again. He pulls his arms away from her massaging fingers, but rests his hands on her hips. "I was thinking, ya know, how could anyone hurt their own kid, get so angry enough to do what Evelyn did. But I remembered...I almost did, Liv." The tears spring to his eyes before he can stop them, and this time he can't blame his weakness on liquor.

She looks up at him and scoots as close as she can with the car's console in the way. "Almost," she whispers, and her hands cup his face and swipe at his tears.

He sniffles and he tries to remember how he told the story to Cragen. What did he leave out? Did he tell him everything? He was too drunk to realize and now he can't remember, so he just tells her the honest truth. "Maureen was only two, uh, Kathy was pregnant with Katie...I was fresh outta the corps, unemployed, so I played Mister Mom while Kathy went to work, and, uh, ya know, I didn't mind. I loved being there for Maury, but, uh, I was also fucking miserable, you know that. Trapped. Frustrated. We had next to nothing in the bank and I felt like I was failing my family."

She shakes her head, shifts closer, brushes away still-falling tears.

He gives her a small kiss on the nose, blinks once, and says, "Anyway, uh, one night, Kathy went out, and I was home alone with Maureen. She, uh, spilled grape juice all over the new carpet we really couldn't even afford, and looking back, it wasn't anything to get mad at, but in the moment, God, I was pissed. I grabbed at her to spank her, and she was..she was so scared, she was wriggling out of my arms and I...I smacked her across the face."

Her hands move as she gasps lightly, her fingers slide through his short brown hair. "Breathe," she tells him, because he's turning an almost purple color. "El, breathe, I'm here. I'm right here."

He nods, sniffles. "I raised my hand again, but I stopped, I remember telling myself to fucking stop, and I'm sitting there on this ruined carpet, just holding her, and she's crying...I just kept telling her I was sorry. I'm sorry." He shakes as he breathes again, and he presses his lips together and closes his eyes. "It was just a lousy carpet," he whispers.

Her knuckles brush away the last few tears that roll out of his eyes, and she whispers, "You stopped. That...that's what makes you different. You stopped, El." She lets one hand drop to his chest, over his heart, and the other cups his chin. "Look at me," she says, both a plea and an order.

With another deep breath, he opens his eyes, stares directly into hers, and the tears stop altogether. He inhales, his lungs hurt less.

"You had a moment, okay?" She shrugs. "All parents have moments, and your intention was discipline, you did not set out to hurt your daughter." She can't help it, it's her turn to cry it seems, and the hot tears fall without her consent. "As soon as you saw how scared she was, you hugged her, you apologized, you never hit her again, and she doesn't remember it at all." She sniffles and her lip quivers, her fingers that were strong only minutes ago are now clutching his suit jacket in desperation.

"Baby, what's…" but he doesn't get to say anything else. Her body falls against him and his arms wrap around her. He closes his eyes and holds her as she shakes and sobs and speaks.

"She looks at you with so much love her little blue eyes, and all of her memories of you are happy, filled with love." She blinks and sobs again, and then she breaks completely. "You stopped, Elliot, you didn't look her in the eyes and see that she was crying...and laugh. You didn't hit her over and over again, you didn't tell her she was a mistake or that you wish she was never born. You never drank yourself into oblivion because of her or told her how worthless she was, and you never told her that no one could ever love her because she was half monster. You stopped. You only hit her once and you stopped, you didn't spend the next sixteen years beating the shit out of her and making her so afraid to let anyone else into her life that she chose the one job that she figured would keep everyone the fuck away. You didn't make her so ashamed of her own existence that she doesn't even remember her birthday. You didn't make her so numb and so convinced that she doesn't have anything worth fighting for so she fights for every other fucking person in the world just to have a reason to get up in the morning. And you sure as fuck never told her that she has to watch her step and keep her mouth shut because no one likes a know it all, and shit, you tell her you love her all the time, and that makes you more of a fucking blessing to her than you will ever know."

"Liv," he whispers, he kisses the top of her head, and he realizes he's sitting and rocking her in arms, the same way he rocked Maureen all those years ago. "My sweet girl," he says softly as he pushes her back slightly and looks down at her red, swelling eyes. Baby, you...you are not half-monster, you are worth, fuck, everything. I love you, Liv. I love you more than I thought it was possible to love another person."

She laughs at that, she knows he's serious and the twenty-six-year-old crack in her heart begins to mend. "I love you," she whispers so softly she has to wonder if she really said it.

He kisses her lips gently and then makes sure she is focused on him as he looks deeply into her eyes and talks. "Shit, baby, my kids love you, so you definitely have more mothering in you than you realize, and you sure as fuck didn't get it from her. You became a cop to keep yourself from, what, having a family? Falling in love? Well, fuck, you fell in love with a family and an entire fucking family fell in love with you, so knock that one back a bit. You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, baby, in fact, you have the fucking Goddamn right to be so fucking proud of who you are. You don't have to remember your birthday, it makes it easier for me to surprise you every year. You're not numb, baby. You feel everything so intensely, that what makes you so fucking good at this job. You have me. Look me in the eyes and tell me I'm not worth fighting for. That we're not. Because I'll fucking fight like hell for you every second, of every minute, of every hour, of every day, for the rest of my fucking life if I have to. Let that be your fucking reason to get up in the morning. You have me, baby, and I will make you forget everything she said to you, everything she did to you, I fucking promise."

She wipes her eyes and nods at him, and she says, "God, I'm so sorry, I don't, uh...I don't know where that all.." she clears her throat and it's as if she hears all of his words hit her at once. "You...do you mean all of…"

"Every fucking word," he says, and he lowers his voice, he leans closer to her, and he figures now is the perfect time to take a chance and give her the first of what will be many dark and firm demands. "Tell me you believe me."

The way he's looking at her, the way his eyes are three shades darker than usual, the feeling of his hands on her body, it all makes her believe him, trust him. "I do," she hears herself say, and then she takes a deep breath. "I think...wow, I think we both needed that, huh?" she asks as she tries to smile as though nothing happened.

He laughs and nods. "Yeah, uh, I guess we did," he says. "Thank you, by the way. What you said, before, um...I needed to hear that. I have needed to hear it for so long. Kathy never said a fucking word about it, she just made me sleep on the couch for a week, which...honestly, was more of a reward than a punishment. Cragen had a chance to and he just fucking chose to keep that in his back pocket and use it against me." He kisses her slowly, deeply, and he whispers as he pulls back, "I needed someone to tell me I wasn't a horrible father for it, and you...God, you always know what I need. We're so fucking good for each other."

"I needed to hear everything you said to me, too, so…" she shrugs and straightens out her blazer. "Like you said, we're good for each other. We're each what the other needs."

"Damn right," he says, and then he smirks, puts his hand on the handle of the car door, "One more thing. You're a badass, Benson. Fucking own it, okay? You don't have to hide the fact that you're brilliant just because you're working with people who've been on the job longer than you've been alive. I'm not worried about how they're gonna feel about being shown up by a girl." He makes a playful face. "Well, I mean, as long the girl is you." He gives her another one of his subtle orders. "Don't hold back because you're afraid to step on anyone's toes, you're a fucking amazing cop, and you're my partner, I will back your play, no matter what. That's how you got this far as fast as you did and damn it, I'm so fucking proud of you for it. So I say, fuck what your mother said because I happen to find the know-it-all side of you sexy as fuck."

She breathes him in as he kisses her one last time, and then she says, "Oh, in that case," she opens her door and narrows her eyes at him. "Ten bucks says I figure it out before you."

"Ten bucks?" he scoffs. He gets out of the car, slams the door, and runs around to meet her by her side. "Throw in something else and you're on."

She folds her arms and eyes him curiously as she digs the heels of her boots into the pavement. "Okay, what do you want, Stabler?"

He looks over his shoulder, he sees the uniforms waiting behind the yellow tape and he knows the medical examiner is staring impatiently at them. He turns back to her and he licks his lips. He puts one hand on the hood of the car as he leans into her and whispers, in a voice he knows is going to make her wet and antsy, "If I win, I want you to come someplace with me. A place I've been, uh, intrigued by for a while but only ever saw myself going...with you."

"Where?" she asks, and her interest is piqued, she kicks one foot over the other and starts to move toward the waiting crime scene.

He shakes his said. "Not telling, part of the thrill." He narrows his eyes. "Deal?"

"Wait, what do I get if I win," she says, biting her lip.

"Ten bucks," he jokes, and then he drops his voice again and steps in front of her. "And the most fucking exciting night of your life." He grins smugly. "Which is what it would be anyway. So we'd both win either way." He licks his lips again, tugs on his belt, and he says, "You don't want to say no to me, baby."

Her eye twitches, her palms start to sweat, and she feels her lower back tighten and tense. "You're on," she says, keeping her arousal at bay by looking over toward the street corner. "But, uh, you told me not to hold back, so…" she shrugs innocently. "I'm playing to win."

"Good," he scrapes his teeth over his lip and because he knows no one can see it, he slaps her in the ass, prodding her. He walks a step behind her as they head for the scene, and he tugs on his tie as his smirk widens. Maybe the night isn't shot to shit after all.

**A/N: Next: Where does he want to take her?**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Like autumn leaves his sense fell from him. An empty glass of himself shattered somewhere within. (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, the timelines of some cases and details have been altered. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

The way he hunches over the metal table shouldn't turn her on, but it does. The way his muscles bulge and strain against his white button down as he flexes them in anger shouldn't make her wet, but it does. The way he sneers at their perp, the way his voice sounds like gravel in a coffee grinder, the way he uses the words _fuck _and _asswipe _and _bitch _so nonchalantly, none of it should make her heart race or her pussy clench but it all fucking does. She takes a slow step with her blue-silk wrapped arms crossed over her chest, and she tilts her head.

"You have about ten seconds before I lose my temper with you, Nixon," Elliot threatens, but he hopes the people on the other side of the glass assume it's a scare tactic. He's in deep shit if they don't. He also hopes Olivia's in on it, the last thing he needs is her worrying about him in the middle of this shitshow, and stopping him just short of a confession. "Eight seconds," he rolls his neck.

Olivia watches intently, preparing herself to ask the next question, but she jerks back a bit as Elliot suddenly lunges forward and grabs the suspect's arm, twists it behind his back. It should bother her, she should stop him, it shouldn't be something she's about to encourage...but it is.

"Ow! Fuck, man! What is your damage?" the scared man cries out, leaning back to keep himself from serious injury. "You're gonna break my arm!"

Olivia grins, leans over to Nixon slightly, and says, "You know, my partner, here...he has a real anger management problem. I thought he had it under control. Apparently, I was wrong." She shrugs and tries to hide the smirk behind a severe glare.

Elliot growls and pulls the man's arm roughly. "You have five seconds to tell me where the girl is, or I will snap your arm like a twig."

"Seriously," Olivia gets closer, drops her hands to her knees, and stops right in front of the man's face, looks him in the eyes. "He _will _break your arm."

"Okay! Okay!" the grimy man shouts, and he grunts and groans as Elliot throws him out of his hold. Head down on the table, he starts to sob and shake his head. "She's in a warehouse, on Lexington, behind the Vintanza building," he chokes out, rubbing his shoulder where Elliot has nearly dislocated it.

Elliot grins smugly, cracks his knuckles, and leaves the blubbering suspect in a crumpled pile on the table as he pulls Olivia out of the interrogation room. "You heard him," he says to the people in the pit. "He gave it up. We're gonna go…"

"I heard him, and I already sent Fin and Munch," Cragen says, interrupting him. His hands are in his pockets, his face almost the same color as his red tie. His thinning white hair blows in an unfelt breeze as he swivels to look more discerningly at Elliot. "I warned you, I warned you more than once, and this was…"

"An interrogation tactic," Olivia says, cutting Cragen off, hoping she isn't lying to her Captain. She hesitates, almost unable to believe she's actually about to go toe to toe with her boss on this. She bites her lip but remembers her conversation with Elliot and stands up a bit straighter, She looks at him for only a second as she musters up the confidence he alone instills in her. She turns back to Cragen. "He wasn't really gonna break that bastard's arm, he barely even touched him!"

Cragen narrows his eyes, tilts his head. "Excuse me, Benson? I don't think I was talking to…"

"You were talking to my partner," she intrudes again. "You were actually about to yell at him for something he didn't do, and since, as I said, he's my partner, it's my job to keep him out of trouble." She blinks once, she can feel the sudden heat radiating from Elliot as he stands beside her. She swallows and says, "If I thought, for a single second, that he was really about to hurt that asshole, I wouldn't have egged him on, or just stood there the way I did." She should play competitive poker.

Cragen brings one hand up to his face and drags it down, keeping himself from getting overwhelmingly mad. "I'm not sure who the hell you think you are, but when you find Detective Benson, tell her she's damn lucky that this time...I believe you. Like I said, Munch and Fin went to get the girl, so you two...go the hell home." He turns and shoves his hands back into his grey pockets. "And next time, tell me what game you're running so I don't jump to conclusions."

Elliot watches Cragen huff his way out of the pit, and then he turns and looks at Olivia. "Thanks," he says, and he leans into her and lowers his voice. "You know I..."

"I know," she stops him. "You'll work it all out, tonight. But you're getting better, ya know, a week ago, you really would have broken his arm." She winks at him.

He chuckles and then says, "Oh, uh, you won, by the way," he whispers. "You figured it all out, got the right guy in the box. So…" he takes his left hand out of his pocket, a folded ten-dollar bill clipped between his fingers, and he dangles it in front of her for a moment.

She smirks as she takes it from him, and then she starts, "There was something else you said…"

He presses a finger to her lips, silencing her, and he jerks his head toward the door. He nods at the uniformed officer and confused attorney who are standing behind him. "Handle him," he says, thrusting a thumb toward the glass, and then he leads Olivia out into the squadroom. He grabs his coat and her jacket, snatches his car keys off of his desk, and he tries not to scowl at Cragen's closed door on his way into the hall.

Once they're out of view from anyone who'd notice, he takes her hand and pulls her into the stairwell. He helps her on with her leather jacket, puts his trench on himself, and then squeezes her fingers again. The way he pulls her down the steps, so furiously, causes their frantic footsteps to echo. He kicks the alley door open with a grunt and then tugs her across the parking lot, unlocking the car with a click of the button. He opens the door for her, smiling, loving the too-curious look in her eyes as she settles into her seat. He kisses her as soon as he gets in the car, cupping her face and moaning against her perfect lips. "I've been fucking needing to do that all fucking night," he says to her.

"Well, uh, I'm glad you finally did it," she teases. "So where are we going?" She waits for an answer, but she doesn't get one.

With a moan, he kisses her again, this time his hand slides further up the back of her shirt. He fingers the clasp of her bra tauntingly, imagining how much fun it's going to be taking it off her soon. He slips away from her, swipes his hands down her chest once, and starts the car.

"Where are we going?" she asks again, but he doesn't answer her. She watches as he starts driving with a wicked grin on his face. "El?" Again she's ignored. She lets out an annoyed sigh and sinks into the seat, folding her suit jacket into a neat rectangle and dropping it onto the floor of the car. She pulls down the visor and slides open the mirror, checking herself over, but she hears him say something that makes her blush. "Thanks," she says quietly, and she pushes up the shield again. In the past week, Elliot has called her beautiful more than anyone else in her whole life, combined. It's something she just can't get used to. "Are you gonna tell me where we're going?"

He keeps his eyes on the road and ignores her constant questions and every time she asks where they're going, he simply says, "You'll see."

It takes ten minutes, then finally the car rolls up to a brick townhouse. The windows are covered by deep red blackout curtains, all except the one next to the front door, which is shadeless, allowing anyone outside to look in on what seems to be an elaborate formal dinner party. The room is brightly lit, wide paneled, as if the people inside are _asking_ to be watched. There are two words etched into the glass on the front door: _Private Club_.

She stares at the house, confused and excited, as she gets out of the car. He yells her name, and she turns fast. "What?"

He strides over to her, his eyes travel the length of her body and he licks his lips and grins. She's so fucking sexy, no matter what she's wearing, but the way her purple shirt clings to her curves gives him goosebumps. Her black slacks make her long legs look so delicious, and he's fucking eager to taste them. The leather of her boots and jacket give her an erotic edge, and the natural glow and blush of her makeup-less skin makes him harder than a baseball bat. He runs a hand down her back and rests his palm on her ass. "When we get in there, uh...there are gonna be a few, um, rules."

"Like no shirt, no shoes, no service?" she jokes, because the place is definitely not _Gray's Papaya. _

"Actually, you'll be served faster if you're completely naked so, no." He clears his throat, squeezes her ass, raises his other hand and he looks at her. He holds up one finger for every rule he rattles off. "You're not allowed to leave my side, you aren't allowed to touch anyone except me, and you…" he inhales sharply. "You can't say no to me."

She looks into his eyes, doesn't blink, licks her lips. "Where the hell are we, Stabler?"

He kisses her lips softly and whispers, "I've actually, uh, never gone inside, but I've talked to people who are members here, and it's…"

"Elliot," she interjects. She raises her eyebrows, and she goes with him as he pulls her toward the stone steps.

"This is The Labyrinth, Liv," he says, and he sees her eyes widen. "You've heard of it." He laughs to himself as his free hand smooths out his white shirt, tugs lightly on his purple tie, and leads her up the front stairs, then looks at the row of doorbells on the side of the door. "There's a different bell for every floor...every floor has a, um, purpose. The one we want is...this one." He pushes the button with the number three on it.

"So I can't say no to you," she bites her lip and gives his hand a squeeze. "What are you planning on asking me to do, exactly?"

"Asking?" He chuckles, he brings his free hand to his cheek, looks deeply into her eyes. "No asking, baby," he kisses her hard, demanding, pleading. He moans when she gives in, wraps her arms around him, lets him take over. Their hands are wild as they claw at each other, seeming to forget they're on a city stoop on a busy street. He wants more, and he makes a move to get it, but a throat clears and he turns with a shit-eating grin. He nods at the impressed-looking woman who's standing by the open door. "Stabler," he says. "Reservations for two."

"Yes, you booked the Bellamy Room," the woman says, nodding her approval. "Forgive the noise, and the debauchery." She opens the door wider for them, and then signals them to follow her. "First floor," she says as she holds a hand out to her right, "The tamest suite in the house. It's where most people like to start, dinner, drinks, and a full disclosure lecture on what we have to offer."

Olivia grips Elliot's arm as they start to climb the spiraling black velvet lined staircase. "Skipped that, I guess," she says with a small scoff.

Elliot chuckles and says, "Didn't need it," and swats her in the ass.

The woman hears the smack and a slight yelp behind her and she licks her smiling lips. "Second floor," she stops and turns to them, and flips up a wrist to gesture behind her. "Our blackout rooms. Complete...and total...darkness. You won't have any idea who's touching, or whom you're touching, just the pure and absolute pleasure of feeling it all happen. Rooms on this floor cater to any sexual preference, any kink, and the room in the back," she chuckles. "That's the blind orgy room. I don't have to explain, do I?" She crooks a finger and guides them on, continuing up the stairs.

"No, we got it, thanks," Olivia quips, and she squints to discern the difference between which doors are opened and which are closed. She feels Elliot tugging her and she looks up, "What?"

"This is our floor," he tells her, and his heart is in his throat as he waits for their guide to explain it so he doesn't have to.

The woman lifts the satin of her black robe a bit, playing with it like a fan, as she looks at Olivia and then at Elliot. "Third floor," she says, "Couples only. Private rooms, personalized upon reservation. Fetish rooms, bathroom and shower in each. This is the only floor in the house that offers privacy. Intimacy. The only floor in the house with rules." She lets her eyes linger on Elliot a bit too long. "You'll need to notify your handler if she breaks the rules, and he will give you what you need to…" she shoots her eyes toward Olivia. "Punish her."

"No, uh, I can handle that on my own," he says, his voice already exuding dominance. "That's why I chose the…"

"Bellamy Room," the mistress says. "Right, follow me." She leads them down a long hallway, moans and sighs and screams can be heard behind the different colored and labeled doors. They stop and she turns, her eyes land on Elliot again and drag down his body. She smirks at his impressive bulge. She hands him the key and says, "This will not only lock and unlock the door, but the drawers and cabinets in the room. Read the labels, don't unlock it if you don't need it, and don't touch it if you're not going to use it, it makes sterilization take longer. Respect that."

"Absolutely," he says, taking the key from her eagerly. He looks at Olivia and he whispers, "Remember, you.."

"Can't say no to you," she nods, and she's finding it harder to breathe.

The mistress sees the heat in the gaze they give each other and she smiles. "If you'd like, when you're finished here, above us is the fourth floor. Anything goes. Open doors, groups, kinks, join or watch...choices." She smiles. "That's where I'll be." She winks at Olivia and licks her lips again. "If you work up an appetite, the lounge is just around the corner, complimentary juice, soda, and water. You'll need to purchase any food, though, and there is absolutely no alcohol served here. This is a safe space, and we require everyone to be not only completely consenting and comfortable, but also clear-headed."

"Which is why nothing here is illegal," he says, only for Olivia's sake, he knows the way her mind works. "Thank you, um…"

"Mistress Nina," the woman says, and then she's gone, down the hall, up the stairs.

Olivia exhales again and turns to look at Elliot. "This is the place you said you could only imagine coming to with me?" She narrows her eyes. "When the hell did you start imagining us coming here? Because we've only…"

"Two years ago," he confesses as he opens the door. "About the time when, uh, we worked the Danielson case. This place came up in the investigation," he steps aside, lets her in, then closes and locks the door behind him. "Me and Fin, we came out here when you were with the vic at Mercy, and Liv, fuck," he chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment as he runs a hand along the embossed labels on the drawers. "Everything about this floor, this room in particular," he shot his eyes to her and smirked, "Added a lot of fire to the fantasies I had about you, lemme tell ya." He laughs and slips the key into a drawer. He slides it open, pulls out a bottle of massage oil, then locks it again.

She takes off her jacket as she watches him move, her eyes narrow and then widen when she sees what drawer he's opening, what he's pulling out of it, and she opens her mouth to ask him a question. He turns, though, and the look in his eyes makes her forget how to speak.

"Take off your shoes," he says with a nod, "Then your socks, your pants, then your shirt. In that order. Leave the bra for me." He laughs, it comes from somewhere low and deep, "And I know you're not wearing any underwear." He pulls off his tie and hangs it on a hook by the door, knowing he'll need it soon enough. He slowly unbuttons his shirt as he watches Olivia strip. It takes every ounce of will power he has to keep his hands off of her, to wait until she's finished.

She keeps her eyes on him, her heart hammering in her chest as she watches his clothes fall away with hers. With a soft breath, she drops her shirt to the floor, the last garment she has to shed, and she blinks as he steps up to her. She closes her eyes when his right hand cups her chin, his left pulls at the hair tie keeping her loose bun in place.

"I love your hair," he tells her, and then he wraps his hand in it and pulls, forcing her eyes open. "On the bed, lay back," he commands, and he loosens his grip on her waves to let her do as she's told.

He slinks over her, his gun-calloused hands roam along her soft skin, slide up her sides, reach underneath her trembling body, and he stares down into her eyes as he deftly unhooks her bra. He keeps her stare as he bends his head forward, grabbing the right strap with his teeth.

Her breathless moan flies into the room, it's caught by the foam panels, and that's when she realizes why he chose this room. It's insulated. Soundproof. No one out there will hear her cry his name, or scream for him, or cum for him. He needs to be the only one who knows what she sounds like when she cums. "Elliot," she whispers.

He shakes his head as he tugs on her bra strap like a chew toy, beckoning her to move her arm to slip it off. He repeats the action on the other side, then flings the bra to the side. "Do you trust me?"

"With my life," she replies, she doesn't think about it, she doesn't hesitate.

He dips his head again and pokes out his tongue, he licks the length of her from her belly button to her lips, runs his tongue along them, then kisses her slowly, deeply. When he pulls back, he looks at her again. Things they haven't talked about start flying like angry vultures in his head. They already have a singular firm rule: _no safe words._ But they have to have some hard limits, don't they? He smiles, then, already knowing what they are, because he knows her, and now, after years of waiting and hoping, he knows himself. "Do you love me, Olivia?"

The full name. He only uses it when he's pissed off or when he's about to cum, neither seems to be happening, so she raises an eyebrow. She's walked into an underground sex club with him, she's lying naked beneath him surrounded by lube and toys she's never even seen _pictures_ of before, she can't believe he needs to ask. Then, it hits her. He's asking her questions like this because she can't say no to him, here, tonight. He's looking into her eyes as he asks because he's a good fucking cop, these are the control questions, he's watching and memorizing what it looks like when she's telling the truth so he'll know when something's wrong. "Yes," she says. "God, yes," she whispers, and her hands find his elbows.

He kisses her again, and then he moves. He leans up, sets himself on his knees, sitting on her legs. His dick is hard and poised, rigidly aimed upward and pressed against his stomach. One hand splays fanned out over her lower abdomen, fingers curling and spreading, caressing her. The other hand reaches behind him to grab at one of the things he's pulled out of one of the drawers. He looks at it for a moment, makes a face, and then looks down at Olivia. "Looks about right, doesn't it?"

She tilts her head, her left hand moves over his, her right tangles nervously in the red satin sheets. "Do you mean, are you asking if it looks like…" she bites her lip, draws her glance toward his dick, then darts her eyes back to the rubber molded one in his hand. "Not hardly," she says with a laugh. "Not as thick, not as long…"

"That's the point," he tells her, smirking. "Took me a week to, uh, turn you into a custom fit, baby. I'm not wrecking that." He winks at her, and then he takes a deep breath to calm his nerves. He has to find the control he lost tonight, and he needs to find it now, with her. "One last question, then I'm done asking," he says, and he rotates his wrist. "Where do you want me," he pauses, flicks the flesh-colored toy a bit, and finishes his question. "And where do you want this?"

**A/N: Next: O..O ::gulps::**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Like autumn leaves his sense fell from him. An empty glass of himself shattered somewhere within. (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, the timelines of some cases and details have been altered. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

He doesn't give her time to answer, he shifts his weight and nudges her wet slit with his cock while reaching low behind him with the toy. He teases her with it, tilting his head, smirking as her lashes flutter.

Her breath hitches and her heart races as she realizes he's about to fuck her, twice, all at once. She's concerned and excited at the prospect of it, taking great relief in the fact that he's the only man in the room, the only man in her.

He watches her eyes carefully, his lips slightly parted, and he pushes, slowly, himself and the facsimile at the same time. He moans at the way her pussy clenches harder than usual around him, the way her ass gives him less resistance as he slowly inches the rubberized dick into it now. He feels his body burn as he fills her in more ways than anyone ever has.

"Oh, my God, Elliot," she whimpers, her wrists twist in the satin sheets, her hips rise to meet his thrusting and allow him to push the toy deeper into her, stretching her. Her eyes close and her lips flatten into a thin line.

He slides the toy out and then back in, again and again, matching the speed and power of his own pistoning. "Fuck," he growls, he can feel the way the toy fucks her ass, it rubs against his dick through the thin wall of skin.

She moves her hands out and smooths them up his chest, her nails scrape over his nipples, she whispers his name and is staring intensely into his eyes. "Oh, my God," she whimpers.

He keeps thrusting, fast and deep, as he pulls the thick toy out of her slowly. He drops it to the floor behind him and reaches to the left for a smaller object, cone-shaped, ridged. He smirks as he stares down at her, again watching her expression change as he slowly pushes it into her ass, and then he flicks a tiny switch on the bottom as he gives one last push, working it all the way into her.

"Holy shit!" she cries as she bucks and writhes. The vibrations course through her and send her further toward the edge, she is slipping fast and it's the most incredible and intense feeling she's ever experienced. "El," she starts, but her eyes widen.

This is what he wanted. This is what his fantasy had been since the moment he'd found out about this place, this room. "Fuck, scream. Do not fucking hold back." He moves faster, harder, feeling her body buzz beneath him, around him.

She obeys, her screams fly through the air and hit the foam ceiling. As her back arches, she grips the skin of his chest with curling fingertips, it makes him lean forward and work himself deeper into her.

He lets one of his hands wrap around her left hip, the other winds in her hair. He pulls, hard, makes her moan his name, and he thrusts harder as he grunts his teeth and says, "Tell me how you fucking feel."

"Amazing," she tells him, and when he slams his mouth over hers she lets him invade and pervade and possess, gives it all back to him, begs him to bring her over the cliff. Her legs bend and wrap around his hips, the way her body curls presses the buzzing plug upward and she feels it against her clit. The feeling of being so full and so consumed ignites a fire within her and she digs her nails into the blades at his back as she whispers, "I'm gonna cum."

"That's the whole fucking point," he growls, and he moves the hand at her hip lower to hook around the back of her knee. He lifts, bends, knows it's shifting the buzzing toy again, knows it's going to be her undoing. "Cum," he says, and he slams himself into hard, over and over, their bones meeting with slaps and hits. "Fuck, yes! I can feel you fucking cumming."

The moans are louder, the scream of his name is near-violent. There's no time for catching her breath, she almost immediately felt the pressure of a second orgasm building. "Elliot," she whimpers, "Oh, God, Elliot."

He feels her nails break the skin at his back, he can tell she's drawn blood, he moans and growls and kisses her and he whispers, "You are mine, cum for me, again, now." He rocks his hips and reaches for the still-buzzing plug. He doesn't turn it off, he just pulls it out of her roughly and throws it over his shoulder. He moves faster, harder, feeling the tell-tale tug at his balls, burn in his belly, pulse in his dick. "I need you to cum for me," he slams into her again, pulls her hair, looks into her eyes, and thrusts deeper. "Now, fucking cum."

She as no choice, she's already cumming as the final command leaves his mouth. Her head drops back, her eyes close, and her nails scrape down his back, pulling strips of skin, leaving raw and red scratches in criss-cross patterns on his skin. She hears the way his breath quickens, the way his body trembles against him, the way his hands find her skin, and she cums again, this time her body seizes and locks him in place.

He tries to thrust again, drops his head to hers, kisses her softly, and whispers, "I love you," as he finally lets go and fires into her with a growl. For the first time, he stays still, deep within her, and he whispers it again, as he brushes her nose with his. "I love you."

She kisses him, it's slow, languid. Her hands slip up his scarred and bruising back, run through his short hair, rest at the sides of his head. She inhales, the scent of him fills her lungs, his musk mixes with his aftershave and it's her absolute favorite scent in the world. When he says it again, she feels his lips move against hers and her heart stops, her body trembles again. She believes it, she feels it, but there's a part of her that still doubts, and still hesitates. She pulls back a bit and looks into his eyes, and she whispers, "I love you, too."

He kisses her forehead and peels himself off of her, gets to his feet, and he kicks the two fallen toys toward the corner of the room. He turns to look at her, breathless and limp, thighs still parted, her skin glistening. He smirks, reaches for the key on the counter, and as he slips it into a drawer, he says, "Roll over." He licks his lips. "I'm not finished with you, yet."

Her eyes widen as she hikes herself up on her elbows, and the sigh that escapes is something that falls between exasperated and excited. "El, I…"

"On your back," he pulls his tie off the hook by the door and then walks toward her with something else hidden in the palm of his hand. "Turn over, Olivia," his voice is low, dominating.

She pushes herself up and shifts her weight, anticipating his next move, slight fear wrapping itself around curiosity. She feels him before she sees him, the way his body settles on top of hers. "What are you…" she stops speaking when he wraps his tie around her head, covering her eyes. "Woah," she barely breaths.

"Relax," he says softly, as he ties a knot in the fabric. He dips his fingertips into her hair, massages her scalp, and her moans make him weak. He scoots back, lets the tip of his dick slip into her as he continues to work his hands down her back. He wants to give her everything tonight, he wants to make sure she can't run from him, from this. He rubs the knots out of her shoulders as he pushes his cock deeper into her, he keeps her on the cusp of tension and relaxation, dangling between cumming and falling asleep. He needs her to feel the way he feels whenever she's around, like sleepwalking into a volcano.

"El," she moans, twisting her back, craning her neck to try to see him through the thick cotton blinding her. "Oh, God, Elliot." She rears back against him, forcing him deeper, but moans and drops her head down again as he begins to work the tension out of her back. His palms run over her skin, the heels of his hands press and drag, and the way her name flies from her lips makes him thrust deeper, roll his hands into her harder.

She wonders why he chose now to use a blindfold, but when he starts to move faster she realizes. She can feel everything, every move he's making, every inch of him sliding in and out of her slick, sore pussy, taking more from her than she can readily give. "Elliot," she moans, and she doesn't recognize her own voice. His name feels like hot sand as it rises up her throat, gravels its way out of her mouth.

He works the kinks and knots out of her back while slowly thrusting, pumping, fucking, loving. He leans down, kisses her neck. "Let go," he whispers into her ear. "Let go, baby, of everything. This tension, this pain, this guilt that you're carrying...let it go. Feel, baby, just feel me." He rocks into her deeper, rolls his thumbs into the dimples right above her ass.

Her entire body curls, it's killing her that she can't see him, but she feels her body tensing and relaxing at the same time and she's still reeling from the intense experience the night has been. She gasps when it hits her, a rolling, full-body release that makes every muscle in her body burn and freeze at once. "Oh, my God, Elliot, what the fuck is...oh, my God," she whimpers, bucks backward into him as she pushes herself up.

He cums with a roar, this time thrusting beyond his threshold. He cries her name softly, runs his hands through her hair, two full minutes of the most excruciating burn he's ever felt. He takes it too far, moans her name, and then falls forward. He shakes and twitches as he pulls his tie off of her face and maneuvers them into the middle of the bed. He turns her around and watches with a smile as she blinks to get her eyes to adjust. "Are you okay?"

"Fanfuckingtastic," she breathes. She can't help noticing they fit together like puzzle pieces, seamless, tight, as if they were carved specifically for each other. She likes to believe they are, and he struggles to find her hands with his. When he links their fingers, he closes his eyes and smiles. "I love you," he says, his face buried by her dark, damp waves.

"I love you," she says, there's no hesitation this time, and she tries to catch her breath as she rests against him.

He licks his lips, opens his mouth to speak, but both of their phones ring, jerking them out of their perfect afterglow and into the harsh reality of why this relationship is the biggest risk they've ever taken.

So far.

**A/N: Next: A bigger risk…?**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Like autumn leaves his sense fell from him. An empty glass of himself shattered somewhere within. (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, the timelines of some cases and details have been altered. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

He's not himself right now.

That's a lie.

He's more himself than he ever has been, he's just also more exhausted and irritated than he has been in a while. Because of his need to explore a darker side of himself with a woman he considered a living, breathing sin, he hasn't slept in nearly three days. He's been awake battling monsters at work, trying to keep his children from feeling the weight of a messy divorce and bitterly silent custody battle, and fucking his partner nine ways from Sunday.

He'd gone through a lot of trouble to plan the evening, he'd thanked every angel in the universe that she hadn't run screaming for the hills when he'd taken her to The Labyrinth. He'd only just begun when their phones rang; he was nowhere near finished with her.

He's fuming as he walks up to the yellow tape, his tie is crooked, his shirt is untucked, and his face is the exact color of a too-ripe tomato, the last shade of red before it turns purple. "What," he snaps at the closest uniform, "Was so fucking important that you had to drag us out of bed?"

The younger officer turns white as Elliot's fangs stare at him. "Um, well, Sir, I...I just...I've only been here for…"

"What my partner is asking," Olivia takes over, offering the green young man a professionally cool tone, "Is what are we walking into, here?" She is oblivious to the way Elliot is smirking at her, the way he pulls on his belt and licks his lips, imagining how many things went untouched in the drawers of that room.

The cop takes off his flat, blue hat, slips it under his arm, clears his throat as he nods at her. He pulls a small notepad out of his pocket and flips a few pages and then his eyes widen as he reads the scribbled facts. "Dead lady, um, naked. Twenty-six, blonde, worked in the fashion district. The landlord found her, said he was asked to do a welfare check because she missed three days of work." He points over his shoulder and says, "You can talk to him, uh, he's…"

"Thanks," she says, then pulls on the lapels of her blazer. She walks under the tape as the young cop holds it for her, and she notices that he turns a bluish white when Elliot passes by him. "You scare the shit out of him, you know that?" she tells him, and there's no trace of humor in her voice. She doesn't find it funny.

"If I scare him, he's in the wrong fucking line of work," he snaps, and he shoves his shirt tails into his pants as he hops up the porch steps with her. "Don't coddle the poor bastard."

"I wasn't coddling!" she scoffs, "I was trying to keep him from throwing up!" She shakes her head at him and says, "What the hell is your problem?" She lowers her voice, angles her head toward his. "Did I do something…"

"Ha," he chortles once, a genuine light in his eyes. "No, uh, you are the only thing that is not fucking pissing me off, right now," he tugs the knot in his tie to tighten and straighten it, and briefly he's brought back to the red room, the fabric of his tie still smells like her, he can hear her screams echoing in his ears. He has to shut his eyes and he swallows hard before he tightens his belt and says, "Let's just get this done, huh?"

She blows a frustrated puff of air out through pressed together lips, and she shakes her head again as she heads into the living room. She looks around, the decor in the room makes her stomach flip. What she can see of the gilded wallpaper glimmers in the dim light as she walks through the room, the rest of it is hidden behind expensive paintings, stretched canvas in heavy frames. The sconces and fixtures don't look like they came from Target, that's for damn sure, and the carpet beneath her feet is more lush and plush than the ones lining the floors of Elliot's house. She squints and wonders if the vic came from money or earned her way into the lap of luxury. "She was my age," Olivia almost whispers, snapping on a latex glove. She hands a pair to Elliot without him asking.

He pulls them on over his thick fingers as they walk into the bedroom, and he leans closer to her as he says, "That's about all you had in common. Look at this shit." He juts his chin toward the closet, wide open and revealing all of the dead young woman's secrets. The clothes are barely hanging up on the hangers, thin and strappy garments mix with mesh and lace. Every pair of shoes has red soles and high heels. "Think she was a pro? Stripper maybe?"

Olivia narrows her eyes at him again. "Cop said she worked in the fashion district. She could've been a model. Would explain the fucking museum in her living room."

"Actually, the place belongs to her father," the medical examiner's voice breaks up their conversation.

Olivia turns, gives the man a polite smile. "Doctor Taylor," she says with a nod, "I guess that means you got an ID for us?"

The man nods right back, hands her his clipboard, and says, "Her name is Gloria Southerland." When he doesn't get a reaction, he presses on. "Her father is Norman Southerland." He blinks once. Olivia and Elliot are giving him matching looks that seem to say they don't know why they should be impressed. "Sergeant Norm Southerland? Testified in the corruption trials against a third of the NYPD? The only known whistleblower when the…"

"The Knapp Commission," Elliot says, and his eyes are dark, almost vacant. The fury in his face has faded into a sheer expression of resignation. "Fucking Hell," he hisses, dragging a hand down his face.

Olivia watches the fire ignite behind his eyes, the blue become almost black. She sees his jaw tighten, the vein in his neck bulges and throbs the way it does just before he cums and it's making her legs weak. "What is it?" she asks, handing Taylor back his clipboard. "El?"

"Fucking forget it," he snaps, and he lowers his gaze to the broken body on the bed. He knows now why Cragen pulled him in on this, why no one else could have gotten the call. He scrapes his teeth over his lips and asks, "You find anything? Besides the big fucking bullet hole on the side of her head?" He looks around at the scattered investigators. "And if you already took the pictures, can someone please cover her the fuck up?"

Taylor inhales and says, "She has ligature marks, on her wrists and ankles. But the only wound is the one shot to the temple. Lividity tells me she was moved, and the rather large pool of blood on the other side of the bed indicates that's where she was shot. My guess is she was restrained when your do-er shot her. Kit suggests nothing about this was consensual, but since she was bound...I didn't find any defensive marks. I will know more when I get her on my slab."

"Thanks," Olivia says to the doctor, and she steps over to Elliot. She watches as he stares at the bed, the body, only looking away when someone pulls a white sheet over her. "Okay, talk to me," she folds her arms and tilts her head. "You need to step outside? Get some air?"

"No," he hisses, and he starts opening and closing dresser drawers, hoping to find a little black book, diary, something, anything. The furniture rattles as he slams the drawers and he grunts once before kicking the side of the dresser.

"Elliot!" she calls to him, and she sees the anger in his eyes, etched into his skin, as he turns to look at her only for a moment before he turns to look at the covered up body in the bed again. "What's with you?"

"The Knapp Commission," he says, still gazing at the now shielded victim, "Investigated the NYPD, zoned in on Queens, interrogated every fucking detective in the department, including…"

"Your father," she whispers. When he nods, she has to fold her arms to stop herself from reaching for him. "You told me the story. You don't have to…"

His voice interrupts her. "Those bastards are the reason my father…" he stops and swallows again, his jaw clicks as he grinds his teeth for a moment. "Fuck, Southerland gave everyone up,told the commission they could get a lot more dirt from Joe Stabler. They gave Southerland a million dollar payout and protective detail, and because my father wouldn't feed his friends to the wolves...he lost everything." He rubs the back of his palm across his forehead, "Now, I have to go talk to that son of a bitch, be the one that has to tell him his little girl is gone, promise him I'm gonna find the asshole responsible...and the whole time, I'm gonna be thinking about what he did to my dad."

"You're gonna do your job," she says, her fingers twitch with the need to comfort him somehow, the moment not allowing her to, and she bites her lip hard as she closes her eyes. "Better than anyone, and you're gonna prove that there's nothing you can't handle."

"Cragen," Elliot shakes his head and finally averts his eyes from the covered body on the bed. He backs up and starts scanning the room for anything the crime scene unit may have missed, anything Taylor could have overlooked. "He did this, you know that, don't you?" He stomps his way over to the end table, yanks open the drawer and says, "He could have called Munch in on this. Fin could work this with his fucking eyes closed. Why us? Huh?" He slams the drawer shut, nothing of note in it, and he looks at her. "Why me?"

Her heart snaps, she feels every muscle in her body pull away from her bones, trying to force her closer to him, begging her to wrap herself around him and never let go. "This isn't personal, he couldn't have known…"

"This is very fucking personal," he sneers as the vein in his neck throbs again. He feels it twitching and he slaps a hand over it because all he can think about when it happens is the way Olivia likes to bite at it. He shoves the thought away, buries it under his boiling blood, beneath his promise to seek justice for the girl in the bed no matter who the fuck her father is. He takes a deep breath, looks down at his feet, and suddenly sees something that his blind rage had caused him to miss. "There was something here," he says, pointing to deep grooves in the carpet.

Olivia squints as she looks over his shoulder, the waft of cologne that hits her makes her stomach flip and her pussy clench, visions of what had happened only an hour ago start to play through her mind, the blood begins to rush to her cheeks. She clears her throat and shakes it off, and says, "That cross in the carpet…" she lowers her voice to a whisper, "The table in that room, El, the one that had the cuffs and chains…" she feels herself flush again, blinks too quickly.

He smirks, and then he remembers that he had every intention of strapping her down onto that table when the fucking phone rang. "Yeah, there was, a, uh...it's called an obedience bench." He can't stop the grin but it fades fast. "They fold up, maybe our perp took it with him." He looks over at Taylor. "Hey, Doc, you think the girl could have been laying face down when she was shot?" He shifts his weight onto the opposite foot and shoves his gloved hands in his pockets. He can see it so perfectly, the image of Olivia's perfect body bent over the bench, her knees locked down, thighs spread wide, her hands bound together above her head, waiting for him to do whatever he fucking wants. He blinks and clears his throat, the sweat forming on his brow brings him back to the moment, and he licks his lips. "Well?"

Taylor checks his notes, flips the pages on his clipboard, then says, "Trajectory was facing at a downward angle, so yes, it's highly likely she was leaning over, head to the side. Why, you have a theory, Detective?"

"Yeah," Elliot scoffs, and then he looks at Olivia with a fire in his eyes that means so many things at once. "If she was strapped to the bench when he shot her, the bullet probably got lodged in the headrest or in one of the paddles. Probably covered in blood, ya know, it makes sense. He took it with him to get rid of the evidence."

"If it was anything like the one in our room, he also took it because his prints would be all over it,"

"Come on," she says, and she lets her burning fingers brush down his arm and tug his elbow. "Let's go give her family the bad news. We'll have Morales run her through the system, see what kind of life she led, if she had a boyfriend who liked to get a little too rough, had kinks and..."

"Hey," he looks at her suddenly, his eyes up and wide. "Don't you fucking think for one goddamn second that I would ever fucking…"

"Relax," she says flatly, and she shakes her head. "Never crossed my mind. If it did, I wouldn't be…" she licks her lips and drops her gaze. She doesn't know if she really is _with him_ so she doesn't let herself say it. "We need to know if she was seeing anyone, or if she was a working girl who took the wrong job, tonight."

He sighs and nods, and he brings his clenched fists up to peel off his gloves. He picks the latex out of the valleys of his fingers and balls it all up with a low growl. He reaches into her pocket and pulls out a ziptop bag, tosses his rolled up gloves into it, and then hands it to her. "You don't really expect me to…" he's interrupted by the shrill ringing of his phone. He fishes it out of his pants and rolls his eyes when he sees who's calling. "What now?" he grumbles. He answers the call with a sharply disgusted, "What, Kathy?"

Olivia's heart cracks at the sound of her name, the knowledge that she's still his wife plagues her as she seals the bag and shoves it back into her pocket as she tries not to listen to their conversation. She cringes when he yells; it strikes her as odd, how he can be so disarmingly vulgar and violent with the same mouth that kisses her so softly, loves every inch of her body including her scars.

He tries to keep his voice low,he feels it rumble in his throat and chest as he walks out of the townhouse and toward their car without acknowledgement to anyone else. "Not what we agreed to, you are really a piece of fucking work." He clicks the button, unlocks the car, opens the door for Olivia, but stands in the way of her getting in as he leans against the red metal and stares off into the distance. "Bull fucking shit, Kathy, you know exactly why this is happening and it isn't just because I wanted out!"

She's uncomfortable enough, listening to him, but the way his muscles are flexing under his suit makes her hot, wet, and she wonders if working with him now is at all possible. She pulls on the waistband of her pants, lets her fingertips run over the grip of her gun, reminding herself that right now she's Detective Benson, professional badass, and isn't taking anyone's shit. "Sometime tonight, Stabler," she gripes, rolling her eyes.

Elliot hears her but he doesn't answer. "Kathy, you really think I don't know what all those business dinners with Lance were really about? You suddenly forget who the fuck pays all the bills? Like I want gonna see charges from the fucking W Hotel?" He pounds his fist against the hood of the car so hard he dents it slightly. "Not a chance in Hell, Kathy, you wanted the house, you're only getting the...excuse me? No you are not moving back in until we…"

"We're at work," Olivia says without thinking. She's inheriting his quick temper, apparently, instead of soothing it. "If you could save the marital crisis for sometime between cases, that'd be fucking fabulous."

He turns to look at her, his lips curl at the corners. He looks right into her eyes. "Talk to my lawyer," he says into the phone and then he hangs up the call. "What did you just say to me?"

"You heard me," she says, her nostrils flaring, and there's an unfamiliar feeling building in the pit of her stomach. She doesn't trust his reactions, she doesn't know what sort of turn he's going to take. She can't help it, she's panicking, the words _moving home_ are carving themselves into the thin layer of confidence she has in this relationship. "At least wait until you get home to…"

"Until I get home?" Both of his brows shoot up, his head cocks, his lips turn up even more, and he feels his dick twitch at the intense look in her eyes.

"Yeah," she nods once. "I already told you, I need to go back to my place, especially if Kathy's coming back to…" she gasps lightly when his thick fingers wrap around her wrist and squeeze hard. She challenges him with an upturned chin and a hard glare.

He freezes for a moment, knowing why he's grabbing her, what he's about to do. He's already risked his marriage for this, he knows he's risking his job for her, but the bigger risk now lies with not taking the risks with her at all. He licks his lips, pulls her wrist downward, conceals them behind the open door of the car, and forces her hand over his painful bulge. He keeps her there as he stares back at her, and he chuckles when he feels her fingers move, her nails start to graze him through his pants. _Good girl, _he thinks to himself. "That bitch is not coming back into the house, not until we move out of it, and I thought we already decided you were staying with me for a while. With me and the kids."

Her hand moves almost involuntarily, her nails run over the full length of his shaft, she sees his eyes twitch and flicker. "Is that what we decided?" she asks, and the way his pupils dilate scares her into submission.

He growls as she continues to scratch over his cock, and he nods. "Damn fucking right it is," he says. "The sun isn't up, yet, and we have rules, tonight." He lowers his gaze to her chest, licks his lip, and when he meets her eyes again he says, "You can't say no to me."

She blinks once. She can't say no to him, anyway. Not anymore. She's lost to him. Ruined. She nods once and whispers as she leans into him, "I need you to be clear headed. Calm down. We can worry about Kathy, and your problems with Cragen and your father later, okay?"

He moans softly, thrusts his hips once, and he leans closer to her. "Yes Ma'am," he says, and he darts his eyes, looks around quickly, and kisses her cheek once. "Don't fucking get used to that."

She laughs under her breath as he slips his hand away from her wrist and moves around to the other side of the car. She exhales as she gets in, and when she's buckled in, she pulls out her phone. She sends a text message to Ruben Morales, their connection in Technical Response, asking for anything and everything he can dig up on Gloria Southerland. After a moment, she shoots Elliot a look, watches as he rolls his shoulders and cracks his knuckles before starting the car and driving off. She drops her head back down and sends Morales another text:

_I also need everything you can find on Sergeant Joe Stabler. Every single fucking thing. _

**A/N: Next: What does Morales dig up? When the exhaustion catches up with Elliot...what happens? **


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Like autumn leaves his sense fell from him. An empty glass of himself shattered somewhere within. (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, the timelines of some cases and details have been altered. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

She knows how he gets. She has felt his wrath before, during cases that weren't personal at all. Her fingers curl around the round edges of her cell phone as part of her lip is sucked between her anxious teeth. Memories from what seems like a lifetime ago flip through her mind: how he'd once yelled at her after she'd gone to talk to a suspect without him, how angry he'd been after she'd questioned a victim without telling him one time, how he didn't speak to her for two days after she'd handed a case over to a different department without asking him.

She closes her eyes and wonders what his rage will look like now. Will he be so furious with her he gives up on what they've only begun to build together? Will this be what makes him realize she isn't worth it? Or, if by some miracle he doesn't despise her, will he simply use this as an excuse to explore new ways of punishing her?

She looks down at her phone again, the words _heavily redacted files _stare back at her, mocking her. She chews harder on her lip as she decides to send Morales another text: _Well, fucking unredact them! _

"Liv," his voice snaps her back to attention, when she turns to him and sees the already fierce fire in his eyes, it takes her breath away. She swallows hard and tries to take a deep breath. She shoves her phone into her pocket, her stomach flipping with the guilt of keeping something from him, and she tilts her head as she strides up to him.

"Here," he hands her a white foam cup while he brings a second one to his lips. He blows over the side for a moment and then sips, his eyes stay trained on her as he swallows. He focuses on the way she closes her eyes when the coffee falls through a slight part in her lips. Her soft and light moan hits his ears and hardens him instantly. He growls silently when she licks her lips and nods at him. "Good?" he asks, his dark eyes narrow slightly at her.

"Perfect," she says to him, and she fingers the flap on the takeaway lid as she smiles. "Thanks." She sips again and pulls down on her shirt, thankful that Elliot had made the executive decision to run them both home to grab a change of clothes before waking up Gloria Southerland's father to give him the bad news. She smiles to herself, recalling how he picked out the outfit, which is still in a bag in the car. "I can't wait to get out of this suit," she says, and she sips her coffee again. "I smell like New York." She breathes. "And you."

"That color," he says after swallowing another mouthful of coffee, "Is gonna look fucking amazing on you." He eyes her up and down, runs his gaze over her body. "Everything looks fucking amazing on you." He grins at the way the purple shirt she's been wearing for two days clings to her skin beneath her loose suit jacket, the way her pants hug her hips and perfect ass before flaring out over her heeled boots. He knows that underneath it all, she is not wearing underwear, that her bra is made of sheer lace, and he gulps down the rest of his coffee to calm himself down. "Ready?" He tosses the empty cup into the trash can beside him and nods once at the guy behind the coffee cart.

She licks her lips and nods, then smiles politely at the coffee cart guy before throwing her foam cup into the bin. It lands right inside of Elliot's and the sight makes her weak for a moment. The universe is telling her they fit together, they belong together, if she falls he will catch her, and the buzzing of her phone in her pocket tells her that she may be falling sooner than later. She walks half a step behind Elliot as she pulls the device out of her pocket and taps in her password. She swipes up to read her messages and she stops walking altogether as she reads what Morales has written to her.

He knows, he can sense she's no longer there, so he turns and looks at her. "What's the matter?" He doesn't get an answer, he doesn't even get her to look at him. "What's wrong?" He reaches for her, grabs her wrist, pulls her toward him, and he lowers his voice. "Tell me," he says, and he leans into her a bit more. "Now."

She can't breathe, she can't think, she can only close her eyes and hand him her phone and she whispers, "Just...please, don't yell at me." She bites her lip when she realizes he's not letting go of her at all.

He's still holding her wrist tightly with one hand while the other takes her phone from her trembling fingers. He quirks an eyebrow and shoots her a questioning look, then drops his gaze to the phone. "What the fuck is this?" He grips her wrist even harder, the words on the screen building fires in his belly, causing cracks in his foundation. "Liv, what the fuck did you do?"

"I thought," she gulps, she doesn't understand why she has the ability to stare down the barrel of a gun without breaking a sweat, daring the bastard to pull the trigger, fearless, but in this moment she's so terrified that every muscle in her body is shaking. "I thought you needed to know...because nobody ever told you, and you need...closure, I guess, I didn't want to…"

"This is fucking ridiculous," he yells, and he feels her pulling back from him. He yanks her back hard, looks into her eyes, and his eyes slit as he curls his lips. "Did you know about this?" he asks sharply, her phone clutched in his other hand, an inch in front of her face.

"Not until now," she snaps back, and somehow she gathers the strength to pull completely away from him. "Shit, I wasn't keeping this from you, okay? He just told me! We found out at the same fucking time, so don't you dare…"

He silences her with a violent kiss, his hand wrapping around the back of her neck to keep her from fighting him off or resisting. Their lips make wet smacking sounds as he delves deeper into her and moans against their kiss, and when he pulls back, they pop apart. "I'm not fucking yelling at you," he hisses, "I'm just...what the fuck is this? He knew? The whole fucking time, Cragen knew exactly what caused my father's goddamned meltdown and he…"

"I know," she whispers. Smoothing down her shirt, she sighs and rubs her forehead. "That's obviously not the whole…"

"No, I read it," he interrupts with a scoff. "He's emailing you the rest of it, fucking two hundred pages of shit he found about my father, I really don't need this right fucking now." He slaps her phone into her hand and shakes his head, squeezing the bridge of his nose. He heaves a heavy breath and turns away from her, undoing the bottom button of his jacket. "Christ almighty," he spits, and then he looks skyward and says, "Deus det mihi vires."

She runs forward to catch up to him. "Wow," she huffs. "Haven't heard anyone pray in Latin since the last time I went to church with my mother." She combs her fingers through her hair and asks, "Strength to what? Not kill me, or to hide the body when you're done?"

"You? Fuck," he grunts as he led her across the busy street, rushing to beat the changing light. "Baby, you were trying to help, you didn't know what...you didn't know." He sighs and hops up onto the curb, then scans the numbers on the buildings looking for the address he needs. "I'm just... trying to wrap my head around the fact that fucking Cragen was on the Goddamned review committee, that he knew what was happening with my father and didn't do a fucking thing to help him." He licks his lips and exhales slowly, pulls on his tie, and drags the palm of his hand down lower to his stomach. He suddenly feels sick.

"Do you wanna go home? I can talk to Southerland myself if…" she stops speaking when she sees the glare he's giving her. "What's the…"

"You aren't going anywhere alone," he tells her sternly, swiping his hand back up his chest. "Especially not to talk to a smarmy son of a bitch like fucking Norman Southerland." There's a tinge of green to his skin now, and he clenches his jaw as he whispers, "You don't do anything without me."

She rubs her lips together and nods once, then slaps him in the arm. "It's over here," she says, ignoring his ferocious command for the moment. She jerks her head toward a tall building, the metal and glass facade glowing in the breaking sunlight. She inhales slowly, trying not to think of watching the sunrise with Elliot as romantic because they're at work, in the middle of a gruesome rape and murder, so right now her feelings don't matter. She moves a bit to let him go first, knowing he has a thing about opening doors for her.

He pulls the gold handle, holds the door and watches with glimmering eyes as she walks past him and through it, staring at her swaying hips and perfect ass. It's an obsession, he knows it. He licks his lips and makes mental plans for her and her ass and hopes this case will close fast. With her, he strides up to the front desk.

They hold up their badges at the same time, in the same way, and he is the one that speaks. "Detective Elliot Stabler, my partner," he tilts his head. "Detective Benson." He flips his billfold closed and slips it back into his pocket. "We need to speak with Norm Southerland. Apartment 15B."

The concierge eyes them both, then lets out a long, slow breath as he buzzes them through the security doors. Olivia nods and smiles, then brushes her palm along the grip of her gun. She knows this is the hardest part, and a guy like Southerland won't take the news calmly. "You gonna be okay?" she asks, sending him a sideways glance as they head toward the elevators.

He reaches the wall first, punching the call button. He gives her a grunt of affirmation. "Don't have a fucking choice," he grunts out, and as the elevator doors open, he pushes her into the box and says, "Cragen always says we don't get to pick the vic, we don't get to pick the vic's family either. He steamrolled my father but some sick sadistic son of a bitch killed his daughter. A girl who…" he pauses, licks his lips, and looks at her.

"What?" Her head cocks to one side, her tough shell cracks and peels and her compassion for him seeps out of every pore. Her hand falls to the inside of his bent elbow and she whispers, "What is it?"

He smiles sadly. "She was only a month older than you," he says softly. The just-about-five-year difference between them isn't enough for him to call her a kid, but it's enough for him to feel as though she's one. When he was ten, she was almost six. When he was graduating high school, she was barely beginning it. He gnaws on the inside of his lower lip, staring at her, trying to imagine what she looked like as a child, reminding himself to ask to see pictures. "I'll be okay," he says, but he doesn't believe his own words.

She doesn't believe him either. Her hand drops and she watches the way he curls up his fingers into tight fists. He's harboring so much, bottling it all up, and she knows that eventually he's going to explode. She opens her mouth but before she can speak the elevator jerks to a stop, dings, the doors open. She closes her eyes almost defeated as he hulks out into the hallway.

He knows he should wait for her, but there's something uncontrollable bubbling beneath his skin and he moves without thinking, pounding on Southerland's door as soon as he steps up to it. "Norm Southerland, NYPD, open up!"

"El," she stops his hand before he knocks again, her eyes focused on the knob and lock of the door.

He shoots her a hard look but then his gaze follows hers and he stiffens.

Simultaneously, their guns are raised, their faces etch themselves into determined threatening looks. He turns to her, his perfect lips mouth the words _one, two_ and on _three _he kicks the broken door open all the way.

Guns poised, they walk into the penthouse, each scanning a separate side of the room. He veers left as she turns right, clearing each space and meeting back in the middle, until the word she shouts isn't _clear _but, "Elliot!"

He runs toward the sound of her voice, aiming, ready to shoot if necessary, but when he steps into the room she's calling from, he lowers his arm. Shoulders slump, he exhales and closes his eyes. "Fucking hell," he mutters, and he holsters his gun as he pulls his phone out of his pocket with his free hand. When his eyes open, he stares down at the blood stained carpet, following the dark red streaks to the body on the hardwood floor in the bathroom.

He dials and waits, but before anyone answers, he shakes his head and thrusts the phone toward Olivia. "I can't fucking talk to him, right now," he spits.

She takes his phone and lifts it to her ear, squinting at him slightly. "Cap? No, uh, my phone died," she lied. "We, uh, we're at Norm Southerland's place, trying to notify…" she listened to him talk over her for a moment, blaming Elliot for pissing the man off and getting them kicked out. "No, he didn't! We didn't, Captain, because he's dead!"

While she explains things to Cragen and gets him to send the medical examiner and a few uniforms, he wanders around the room. Framed photos line the dressers, mixing with bottles of expensive cologne and a collection of Rolex and Movado watches. He scoffs and steps over the marble moulding into the master bathroom. He kneels down beside the body, and because he knows he has to, he checks for a pulse. His eyes close and he makes the sign of the cross as he mumbles a quick prayer. "No one deserves this," he says, feeling her behind him now.

"Cap says to wait in the lobby, ask for security tapes and a log of anyone else who was buzzed in for Southerland," she tells him. "We can't do anything here, Bayliss and Falsone from Homicide are taking this one. It's not ours."

"You can't tell me this is a fucking coincidence," he snaps as he rises to his feet. He looks at her and suddenly he's gripped with the need to apologize. He can tell she's just as tired as he is, they've been awake the same number of hours for the same reasons. He notices the discolored skin at her collarbone, the result of his assaulting mouth and demanding teeth. He can see the exhaustion in her eyes, and it reminds him that she's probably running on fumes; he took so much from her last night, more than she could probably handle, and here she is, still on her feet and fighting monsters with him.

She flips her hair back and scrapes her teeth along her lip. "I'm not saying it's a coincidence, the cases are definitely related, but this isn't a rape, we have to let it go. Paul promised to keep us in the loop, anything pertinent will be…"

"Paul," Elliot hisses. "You're on a first name basis with the new guy from fucking Baltimore, when the hell did that happen?" His nostrils flare with every hard breath and he cringes as he realizes what he sounds like. "Man, I am fucking tired."

"You and me both," she says, hiding a smirk behind her hand. She feels a yawn coming on, stifles it as much as she can, and then says, "I need more coffee, a shower, and I really need to change." She jerks her head back and he follows as she walks out of the room, through the penthouse, back out into the hall, and toward the elevator. "For what it's worth," she hits the button on the wall, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asks, thumbing his fingers through his belt loops. It hits him how desperately he, too, needs to shower. Her scent clings to him like plastic wrap, his thighs are sticky with the memory of how many times he'd made her cum, how hard, how fast. He bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. "You have nothing to be…"

"You don't get the chance to confront that asshole," she says quickly, and she ushers him into the elevator. "I know you wanted to, and I know…"

"Liv," he stops her, his head drops back against the wall of the elevator as it starts to move, "You know you had a feeling something would fuck this up. You had Morales pull those records for a reason. I know you," he mumbles, his eyes half closed. He lets his head loll and opens them back up to look at her. "Thank you."

It's taken ten minutes for the homicide team to get there, another five for the medical examiner's crew to show up. In those fifteen minutes, Elliot had read every word of the files Morales had sent to Olivia. He's been quiet ever since, the only noises coming from him are grunts and knuckle cracks. He lets her drive, a sign that he's really not thinking straight, and she takes every turn too sharply, every bump too fast. It doesn't phase him at all, makes her worry, and when they get back to the station, she parks the car on an awkward angle and rubs her eyes wearily. She looks at him, there's a look in his eyes he's never seen before, one she isn't sure she likes. She leans over the console, brushes the back of her hand across his cheek, whispers, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…" and then she stops. She kisses his lips quickly and softly, as if she's not allowed to and never will again, and then grabs the duffel bag and gets out of the car. She heads for the doors before he can keep her from going.

By the time he convinces his body to move and makes it into the building and up to the unit, she's gone. He looks to Munch, ready to ask where she is, but Cragen's voice hits his ears and something in him snaps. The last shred of self-control frays and splits, and he barges into the office without knocking, without an explanation. He points a hard finger at Cragen and shouts, "You have balls, Captain Cragen!"

Cragen, on the phone, stares at him blankly. "I'll call you back," he says to his caller, and he hangs up, clears his throat, and blinks once before looking right into Elliot's eyes. "Do you come into work everyday trying to get fired, or is this just how you talk to people?"

Elliot scoffs, throws his hand out to slam the door behind him, and says, "You were the fucking reason...you blamed alcohol, you keep telling me I'm just lilke him, but you're the fucking reason he was the way he was!" He lets out a bitter laugh. "And you have the nerve to tell me it's your job to keep me from turning into him," he fumes. "Is that your guilty conscience? You ruined my father's career, destroyed everything he worked for, and now you're afraid that because you turned him into a reckless bastard, and I grew up with it, that my attitude is your fucking fault?"

"Elliot," Cragen rises from his seat, slowly moves over to the younger detective, folds his arms, and calmly asks, "What in the actual fuck are you talking about?" His heart is racing, palms are sweating. His worst fears are being realized.

"You know exactly what I am talking about," Elliot's voice is low, like coarse-grade sandpaper. He shakes his head, lets out another hard grunt. "You testified in those trials, Southerland pointed the finger at my father, made him the only one who could throw the rest of his unnit under fucking bus. And when he didn't, you were part of the review board that doled out the fucking punishment! He didn't rat anyone out, so that made him part of the fucking problem!" His chest heaves with every painful breath he takes, a new supply of cold blood runs through his every vein. "My parents had six kids, me and my brothers lost every shot we had at a solid future, maybe that's why I let myself get roped into…" he snickered, not willing to bring his failed marriage into this just yet. "He lost his insurance, when he got sick my mother had to sell the house to pay the medical bills, she had to move in with my sister! He lost his pension, do you know what that fucking did to my mother when he died? The decision was three to two! Shit, you were the final fucking vote! All you had to say was his choice to keep quiet didn't mean he was a fucking liability!"

Cragen shuts his eyes, wondering if Elliot would even believe that he was threatened and blackmailed to do what he did all those years ago. "You don't understand…"

"I fucking understand," Elliot spits harshly. "I understand that my father was good fucking cop! His badge was his life! He lost the badge, he found the bottle, and he had a whole new reason to beat the shit out of me." He blinks again. "You knew when I walked into this unit, you knew who I was, what I was." He blinks once. "You thought, what, you owed it to my father?" His jaw tightens, his lips twitch. "I didn't need a fucking handout, I needed the truth. I am a good cop, Cragen, and despite everything that points to the contrary, I am not my fucking father. I would arrest anyone in this unit if they broke the law, you know that I would! I have never…" he remembers that Cragen knows his deepest regret and he changes his tune. "Damn it, once, only once, and I will never raise my hand to my kids _ever again_. If anything in the last eight years made you think otherwise, then the NYPD fired the wrong fucking cop."

"Elliot, you don't understand," Cragen starts, but the dismissive hand that meets his words silences him, his heart sinks.

"Save it," Elliot says snidely. "You didn't give a rat's ass about my father's explanation, so I don't give a flying fuck about yours." He puts his hand on the doorknob. "I'm gonna take a shower, and a fucking nap, and then my partner and I will do our jobs, like we always do, better than fucking anyone." He pulls the door open. "Without any help from you, Captain Cragen."

The slamming door rattles the blinds and the frames on the wall, but Elliot doesn't care. He runs both hands down his face and he hopes to God he's right about when Olivia has run off to, because he doesn't have the energy for guessing games or hide and seek. He ignores the looks Munch and Fin are giving him as he rushes out of the squadroom, scans the hallway, and then makes the choice to head left.

He pushes open the locker room door, looks around, and he smirks. Empty. He hears the water hitting the tiles and follows the sound toward the women's side of the showers. The heat hits him first, it makes him pull at the knot in his tie and rip off his jacket. Then, the scent fills his lungs. He peels off his shirt, now steam-damp and sticking to his skin. He smirks as he stops in front of her curtained off shower, closes his eyes, and tosses his clothes onto the bench, into the pile with hers.

She's so exhausted, the water turned up so fully, to a temperature near volcanic, that she doesn't hear the rings slide against the rod as the curtain slips open, or closed. She isn't aware of anything as she bends her head forward and lets the water stream down her neck. But she gasps when his right hand wraps around her, thrusting her chin up.

He pulls her to him and pushes her to the side, presses her against the blue tile. Looking into her eyes, he kneads his hand into her skin as it cups her chin and clutches her face. He leans into her, moaning, pressing the side of his face against hers as he squeezes his hand a bit more and turns her head to the side.

"Oh, my God," she whimpers, when his teeth sink into her neck. The hand under her chin slides down and hides itself between her thighs, his other hand, she knows, is bracing himself against the shower wall. "Elliot," she moans, letting him sink deeper into her.

He slips his fingers further, delving into her folds, wet both with the hot water and her hot arousal. His knuckles press lightly against her thigh, gently commanding her to spread them for him. He chuckles against her skin as she does as she's told, and he moves up only enough to suck her earlobe into his mouth. "So fucking tired," he whispers, the words fall into her ear, and then he moves his fingers into her roughly, thrusts them three times, hard, deep, and fast. "Not too fucking tired for this."

"Jesus," she sighs, and her body rolls with his as he spins them around. She kisses his lips and feels his arms hook under her ass, the water pours over them like Niagra Falls as he hikes her body up and thrusts his hips. He has such perfect aim that he fills her fully without even trying.

He nips at her lips, sucks on her tongue, his palms cup the cheeks of her ass. He loosens his grip with one hand and slaps her hard, making her cry his name into his open mouth. He does it again, knowing that her skin is hot and sensitive, the moist heat in the shower makes the welts appear a lot sooner than they would have, makes her feel the sting immediately, and he chuckles as she starts to work his body into hers.

She rolls her hips in waves, taking him all the way in, sliding off of him almost completely, every single time. His hands are gripping her hips so hard she knows he's leaving marks, and she drops her head and kisses him again. This is what he needs, she knows that, but fuck, she needs it, too. "Elliot," she whispers, and she blinks as the suds from the still-unrinsed shampoo runs off of her, onto him, down his chest, between their working sex.

He grunts once, lets go of her with one hand, reaches out for the bar of Ivory soap, and then spins them around again. He hands her the bar and says, "Do it," as he scrubs his hand through her hair to finish rinsing.

She works the bar over his body, his arms, shoulders, the blades of his back, under his muscles, lathering him as he fucks her, the water washing over them and forcing the grime of the last three days down the drain. The bar slips out of her hand and she grips his head with her soapy hands. Her orgasm builds as she runs her fingers through his hair, scratches at his scalp, and it hits when he moves her body faster and harder, pushing her off of him, pulling her back, their bodies slamming together like crashing cymbals.

He thanks God she's smart enough to know that she can't scream, not here, not now. Her tightening pussy draws him in deeper and as her head flies back, the clenching milks him. Under the hot spay, she whispers, "I'm cumming," and he tries like hell to thrust one last time. He cums with soft grunts as the water rolls over them, and he whispers words in a language he now knows she understands against her lips.

When the burn subsides, she rolls slower against him, knowing how much he loves the blissful torture of being stroked beyond release, and how much she loves the way he feels when he's twitching inside of her. She knows he hopes she can't tell, but she brushes her thumbs under his eyes, swiping away the tears that aren't camouflaged by the water. "What happened?" she whispers, and when he sniffles, she knows he's not trying to hide from her anymore. "Elliot, talk to me."

He swallows back hard, shakes his head, sniffles again, and slips a hand off of her back to turn off the water. He carefully drops her to the wet floor, opens the curtain just enough to grab her towel, and he starts to dry her off as he blinks away the last of his tears. "I just...may have gotten myself fired."

"You yelled at him," she realizes, and she sighs as she watches him turn the towel on himself. "I shouldn't have left you alone, I just thought you were mad at me. I didn't…"

He presses a finger to her lips. "I needed to know. You made sure I found out." He kisses the tip of her nose and scrubs the towel over his hair before sliding the curtain open a bit more and stepping out of the shower. "It's not you I'm mad at. He had a million chances to tell me the truth and yet he decides to make me the fucking bad guy, all the damn time." He takes her hand, positions himself between her and the door so if anyone walks in, it's his bare ass they see and not her perfect body. He digs into the duffel bag, hands her his clean clothes, smirks, and waits.

She shakes out his pants and sinks to her knees, as he steps into the legs of them, she licks intricate patterns in the skin of his inner thighs. As she pulls his pants up, she sucks him into her mouth for a moment, listens to his seething cry of her name, and then rises to zip and button them.

He fingers the straps of her bra in his hands before he slips her arms into them and clips it for her, dropping soft kisses to the tops of her breasts as he does. He moves only so she can slip his shirt onto his chest, and he kisses her lips once before he does the same with her olive green tank.

She moans softly as he pulls her pants up for her, the way his fingers graze her skin gives her chills. This continues, taking turns dressing each other, soft touches and kisses between them. He whispers that he needs a nap, then says something in her ear, in Latin. Her knowledge of the language is rusty, but she knows what he's just asked her.

And she will answer him.

When they wake up.

**A/N: Next: What happens when they wake up? **


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: A .44 full of bullets. Face full of pale. Eyes full of empty. A stare full of nails. (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, the timelines of some cases and details have been altered. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

Her fingers tap the keyboard almost as if they're bugs, crunching and dying beneath her heavy-falling fingertips. She mumbles under her breath as she hits send, the request for new mattresses in the squad's bunkroom now on its way to HR. She rolls her neck, the pain and tension crackling like bubble-wrap. "Fucking hell," she mutters, and then she grins at the man in the desk directly across from her. It's not all the mattress's fault, she knows it.

His head pops up, as though he can feel her staring at him, and his eyes narrow back at hers. "Yes?"

The way his left eyebrow arches turns her on, the smirk playing at his lips makes her body throb. "Yes," she says with a single nod. She tilts her chin up and swerves her lips into a lopsided line. "Or should I say, _ita, ego autem." _She waits and when his right brow moves to meet the other, she knows he's understood. She gives him a sly grin as her head drops just a bit, her eye still on his.

"You...yeah?" He bites his lip and he exhales. "Okay, so, uh...well, we need to get more of your stuff anyway, so I'll drive you back to your place after work, and we will...um…"

"Yeah, we will," she says, but she isn't looking at him anymore, she's reading the report that's been idling on her desk for twenty minutes. She clears her throat and rubs her lips together for a moment, and then she speaks. "Cragen say anything to you?"

"No, not since we came back down here," he returns, and he looks over his shoulder at the captain's closed door. "I think he's a smart enough man to know nothing he says matters right now." One hand drags down his face, the other drives over his head and through his hair. "And don't fucking apologize again, this isn't your fault."

She squints and sits up straight, something in the file striking her. "I'm not," she says, "Here, read this." She reaches over to him, file in hand, and points to the line of type he needs to focus on. When his eyes pop, she hums. "Right?"

He's on his feet in seconds, moving fast to grab their jackets and the keys to the sedan off of the hook on his locker. "Not exactly why I hoped we'd be going back there," he says with a hint of lust in his voice. He holds open her leather jacket for her, trying not to moan at the way it crinkles against her as she moves.

She flips her hair out of the collar, nodding her thanks, and says, "Me either." She follows him out of the squadroom, no more eager to go back to The Labyrinth under these conditions than he is.

Cragen's waiting for them when they get back, leaning against Elliot's desk with folded arms. He watches the two detectives freeze as soon as they walk into the room, and he stares them both down for a moment. "Get anything?" he asks, directing the question toward Olivia, knowing Elliot wouldn't answer him.

Olivia nods as she takes a sip of her coffee. "She worked at a place called The Labyrinth, she was one of their, um...Mistresses," she says, and she tries like hell to keep her cheeks from burning red. "We got a list of her private clients."

Cragebn's brows knit together. "You're telling e Norm Southerland's daughter was a hooker who let her Johns make house calls?"

"No," Elliot hisses, shaking his head. "We're telling you she was a sex therapist specializing in fetishism. She had a handful of clients who didn't like going to the club to see her." He shakes his head. "She met with them at her place, one of them probably…"

"And her father?" Cragen interrupts, he isn't concerned with the moral integrity of their victim, at the moment. "Either of you talk to the guys from Homicide?"

Again, Olivia nods. "Paul…" she senses Elliot's fury and bites the inside of her cheek. "Falsone said they found two slugs, nine millimeter, pretty distinctive markings on them. Tyler told me our girl's wound is consistent with a nine mil, so right now...same bullets, same perp." She takes another sip of her coffee then drops the cup to her desk. "What's up?" she puts her hands on her hips. "You're never out here waiting for us unless something…"

"I need to talk to you," Cragen stops her speaking and points to Elliot. "I'm giving you the choice, I can say what I have to say in front of Olivia, or we can talk alone. Either way, it needs to be said, now." He lifts the finger from a point to a plea for silence as he says, "You were right, you needed the truth, years ago, and I should have told you everything." He shrugs. "I'm not the bad guy, here, and I need to lay it all out for you."

Elliot feels the heat rising, and he turns to Olivia to ask her to stay with him, but as he opens her mouth, her phone rings. He watches, irritated, as she swipes her screen to answer the call. He focuses on her lips, the way they press together just a bit as she says her last name, the way she licks them as she listens to the person speaking. He shuts his eyes and swallows, knowing that if he lets himself go too far he'll regret it. "What?" he asks her, but it comes out almost angry, his mixed emotions fighting for control of his voice, for control of everything.

She looks at him apologetically and then darts her eyes toward Cragen. "Bayliss and his guys were dumpster diving for the gun and found the, uh, the missing table from our crime scene." She flicks the hair out of her eyes with one finger, still holding her phone with the other four. "If what you have to say to him can wait, we have to…"

"It can't," Cragen says firmly. He stands up a bit straighter and shoves his hands in his pockets while he lowers his gaze and flattens his lips into a line so straight it seems inhuman. "Is this something you can handle yourself?"

The way he looks at her scares her. She presses her mouth shut, nods once, and then gives Elliot another desperate look of _I'm sorry_ and she backs away slowly, only turning from him right before she leaves the room.

Elliot feels his heart sink into his stomach, her ass fades from view along with the only hope he has of staying calm during whatever speech Cragen's going to spout at him. He drags a hand down his face and sighs as he turns to his captain. "Choice made," he grunts, thrusting a hand toward the office door in the corner of the room. He follows Cragen, with every step he feels a surge of electricity run through his veins like cold blood. He takes a deep breath as he walks into the office, for the first time noticing how small it is, and he drops into the closest chair to him. "Talk," he bites, and his hands curl around the rounded arms of the chair.

Cragen's shoes fall against the floor with heavy clicks as he moves into place, in front of Elliot, and leans back against the large desk. "Now, I'm not gonna ask how the hell you found out anything about those trials, those records were sealed." He huffs and he licks his chapping lips. "I am, however, going to tell you that those records...don't tell the whole story." He closes his eyes and squeezes the bridge of his nose. "The same assholes that went after your father came after me. I wasn't under investigation, but when they found out I was selected for the review board, Christ Almighty, Elliot, they threatened me the same way they threatened him."

"Guess my father had bigger balls," Elliot throws back at him with a scoff, sinking deeper into the chair. "Sorry," he cringes, clears his throat. "Go on."

"They told me if I didn't hand down liability votes for every cop on the block, they'd…" he sighs. "I had Marge to think about, the family we...we were trying to have a baby." He shudders with the refusal to cry, and then he expels an aggravated breath. "Your father, contrary to what you want to believe, wasn't the best or brightest of his time. He did the job, the job became his life, and he started screwing up...the way you do. You have his temper, and you may not take it out on your kids the way Joe did, thank God, but for crying out loud…" he shakes his head, rolls his tongue around in his mouth for a moment, and he inhales before speaking again. "He wasn't one of the crooked bastards, but he did his share of rule-breaking."

Elliot stiffens, his eyes shut. He says nothing.

"He was stubborn, like you. He went from zero to sixty in seven seconds, like you. He disregarded orders, had a problem with authority, refused to back off when he was putting himself and his partner in danger, who the fuck does that sound like, Stabler?" He sees the way Eliot flinches at his words. "You may not be the abusive son of a bitch he was, I don't see you as the kinda guy who'd run around on your wife the way he did to your poor mother, and I hope to God that you don't…" he tilts his head. "You've never cheated on Kathy, have you?"

Elliot bites his lip. His eyes squeeze shut hard and then open slowly as he turns his head and licks his lips. "Kathy, uh...she left me." He shrugs and laughs bitterly, the irony in the situation not lost on him. "Doesn't really matter who I sleep with, now, does it?"

"Oh, Elliot, I…" Cragen blows out hard through an open mouth and drops into the chair next to Elliot. "I'm sorry."

Shaking his head, Elliot frowns a bit. "Don't be. I'm not. The kids aren't. All we did was fight, and when we weren't fighting we were ignoring each other. I don't know which was worse."

Cragen swallows again, his hand moves and despite his annoyance at the younger man, he drops it onto his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he says again, and he gives Elliot's shoulder a squeeze. He lets his hand fall away and then slowly hunches over and rests his elbows on his knees. "My point, here...I see a lot of Joe in you. I do." He twists and holds out both palms, knowing Elliot hates the comparison. "But I also see how different you are. When you pull the shit he used to pull, it's because you're fighting for the vic or trying to nail the perp. He did it to prove he was right, no matter who it hurt or what it cost." He sighed again. "I get on you because I don't want you to lose sight of what makes you a great cop...the way he did," he almost whispers. "I had my reasons for voting him out, but Elliot, he was on his way to a ruined career anyway."

"You think I would?" Elliot's voice is dark, he sits up a bit straighter. "What do you mean, he would have been fired anyway?" He furrows his brow and looks fully at Cragen. "What the hell did he do?"

Cragen sees the desperation in his eyes, and deeper beneath he sees the pain of being haunted by the memory of his father. "He was in the middle of an official IAB inquisition. He was accused of coercing a suspect into a confession, the guy was killed in lockup waiting for arraignment. And then...evidence came to light that proved he didn't do it." He slaps Eliot on the back and says, "Your father didn't want to admit he had the wrong guy, threatened him nonstop for over an hour, kept him in the box all night, had him in tears." He folds his hands and shakes his head. "When I see you in the box, pulling the same shit, Elliot...I have to come down hard on you because what if it's not the guy?" He blinks and says, "I will not let you throw away what has been an incredible career because you make the same mistake he did."

"It wouldn't be the wrong guy," Elliot says, but then he remembers. There've been moments in his life when he had the wrong guy in the chair, when he started in on the threats and the violence and then got the call in the nick of time to let him go. "Not...not now."

"You mean, not with Liv," Cragen gives him a small, knowing smirk. "She keeps you in check, when she can, but Elliot, I gotta tell ya, there are times when she can't get through to you right away, and I do not want to have to force her to haul you in on charges if she pulls you off of someone too late, or God forbid, you turn your anger on her." He sees the horror on Elliot's face, the emotion shifts in his eyes. "Look me in the eyes and tell me your father never hit your mother."

Elliot's eyes narrow instantly. "I already told you, I have never and would never…"

"You have never hit your kids, save for once," Cragen interrupts. He pulls lightly on his black tie. "You never hit your wife. But Liv? She's your partner. She gives you everything you give her at work, she's just as tough, just as stubborn, you turn on her because you think she can take it...Stabler, she is not like the other partners you've had. Even Marlowe, you ignored her half the time, did a lot of shit on your own because you always said she didn't have the balls or the brains for the job, and she quit because of you!"

"She quit because she couldn't fucking get in my pants!" Elliot yells back, shaking his head. "And she didn't have the balls or the brains, Cap, you know it! She blew three cases in a row because she refused to even see anyone else's side of things. She yelled at a victim while we were still in the fucking ambulance!"

Cragen stands up, turns, and looks down at Elliot. "Are you done?" he asks, almost chastising him the way a father would a child. "I know she wasn't cut out for this, but you weren't doing her any favors." He clenches his jaw and says, "I won't let you be the reason we lose the best cop we've had since...well, since you." He lowers his voice. "You two work, like you said this morning, better than anyone. Don't let your lack of self-control fuck that up."

Elliot nods as he drags his teeth along his lower lip. "I'm...working on it."

"Call your partner, do your job, and don't give me a reason to do what Captain Montgomery couldn't." He wonders how long Eliott will take him talking down to him, and he chuckles to himself when the younger man shifts to rise. He knows Elliot so well.

"What's that?" Elliot stands, almost daring Cragen to say his next words.

Cragen eyes him for a moment. "Mandatory anger management, suspension if you refuse, and beyond that...I won't be able to help you." He leans into Elliot and says, "I know you're not exactly like him, Stabler. I see it. But I do know how to read the warning signs. I am not prepared to lose you to the same shit that took down your father."

Elliot shakes his head and when he speaks his voice matches the volume and tone of his captain's. "I swore to myself...that I would be a better cop, a better father, and a better man than my father ever was." He sneers slightly, his nostrils flare. "I promised myself, my kids, and my…" he licks his lips as the word forms in the back of his throat but it doesn't crawl up to be heard. "I promised Liv," he says in a whisper. He blinks once. "I refuse to break any promise I make to her, or to my kids."

"Good," Cragen says, and he nods at the door. "Go out there and prove it."

Elliot doesn't even nod, he just offers a stern expression as he walks out of the office. He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and fires a quick text to Olivia. He's too pissed to wait for her, it's too late to meet her wherever she is, so he simply tells her where he's gonna be when she gets back.

In the gym.

Fighting his demons.

**A/N: Next: What happens when Olivia gets back? We have her answer, but what was the question? **


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: A .44 full of bullets. Face full of pale. Eyes full of empty.A stare full of nails. (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, the timelines of some cases and details have been altered. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

He's trying like hell to focus on his breathing. In through his nose as he lowers the bar and the weights, out through his mouth as he pushes up. He's trying like hell to keep his mind off of everything Cragen had said to him, the truth about his father, how things were never as they'd seemed. He's trying like fucking hell to pretend his entire world hasn't shifted its axis, that the one thing he's been holding onto, the one thing he's always defended his father for, has been ripped away from him.

"Son of a bitch," he spits as he pushes the heavy barbell away from his chest. The one thing he'd used to pretend his father wasn't a complete asshole no longer matters. The standard to which he'd always held himself no longer exists. He grunts as he hooks the bar back on the rods, and he's mumbling something to himself as he rises off the bench. He grabs more round weights and lets the anger fester. He screws the iron rounds onto the ends of the bar, one at a time, each turn of the knut around the bolt sparks another reason he's pissed off at a man who's been dead for half of his adult life, who was a monster for his entire childhood. "Fucking son of a fucking bitch," he spits out again, and with a fierce rumbling sigh, he lays back down on the bench.

She tries not to breathe too loudly, hoping she's hidden well enough by the line of treadmills. Her eyes darken as she watches his hands curl around the rod, finding their grip. A weakness in her knees hits her suddenly while she takes in the way the muscles in his arms bulge when he lifts the weights, the long, dark, throbbing veins pop as he lowers the bar to his chest and lets out guttural groans as he raises it again. She stifles a moan because when he benches, he grunts the same way he does when he fucks, and it amazes her that it's not something she has to fantasize about anymore. She knows. _She fucking knows_.

The way his body moves while lifting the weights, she realizes, is the same way it moves when he's thrusting into her, just as sure of himself, just as powerful, just as punishing. There's a different intensity in his eyes, though. A darker fire than usual. She holds her breath as she winds around the row of machines, making sure her feet fall silently. The last thing she wants to do is stop him, and she knows that once he sees her, he'll stop. She wants to watch this.

Every single muscle in his upper body is not only visible, but glistening. The sheen of sweat coating his skin sparkles like diamond dust in the industrial lighting of the room. She gasps when she hears him grunt again, it instantly sparks a deeper need for him. It freezes her in her tracks and her hands fly out toward the elliptical at her side, stabilizing her. She lets her eyes travel the length of him, his powerful thighs are straining against his thin grey sweatpants, the white drawstrings are tied in a bow right over his thick, prominent bulge. It makes her smirk, the way it's presenting itself to her like a gift. She licks her lips and moves forward, watching the way his strong legs tense and release to give the rest of his body the leverage he needs to raise and lower the weights. His grunts are getting louder as she gets closer, her heart pounds faster with every step, her pussy clenches every time he lifts his weights. She takes another step and quietly lets her grey blazer fall off of her shoulders, she hangs it over the handles of a stationary bike.

He slams the bar back down on its hooked stand, drops his hands to his face, and rubs his eyes. "Shit," he hisses, but his eyes pop open when he feels something tugging at his pants. "What the fucking…" he stops, he smirks. "Well, hello," he almost whispers, his narrow eyes gazing over at the gorgeous creature in front of him.

She says nothing as she continues to unwrap her present, pulling the strings, undoing the tie, and she rolls down the waistband of his sweatpants just enough to spring his cock free. She stares at him, unblinking, as she works her way between his spread legs and cranes up just enough to slide her mouth down over his hot, eager dick.

"Oh, mother of God," he moans, rolling his eyes backward. One hand shoots to the back of her head and grips her hair, the other wraps around the cushioned bench beneath him. "What the fuck, Liv," he groans, pulling on her hair a bit harder.

She hums as she sinks lower, takes all of him in, then slips away slowly. She grins, proud at herself for remembering to lock the door behind, assuming things would have taken this turn one way or another.

He yanks on her hair again, twisting it more firmly around his hand. Her moan vibrates and it sends burning electricity through his entire body. "Holy fucking shit," he seethes, and he moans when he slides down her throat again. "That fucking mouth, baby," he bucks his hips and smirks at the small gag it causes. "Ah, fuck," he breathes.

She raises one eyebrow at him when he pops his head up to look at her, and holding his gaze, she loops her tongue around the head of his cock, then licks downward. The tip of her tongue swipes the top rounds of his balls and then she drags it back up as if she's licking a slow-melting popsicle.

"Enough," he growls, and he sits up fast, shoves both of his hands under her arms, and flips her over onto the workout bench. He presses one strong hand against her stomach, holder her down, while the other yanks at her pants. He doesn't give a shit if the buckle on them snaps, if he breaks the zipper, or if the buttons fly off, at all. "You always fucking know," he spits out, and he curls over, wraps his hands around her hips, and thrusts forward with a grunt that rivals all of the other ones that left his lips during his workout.

Her hands clutch the bench at her sides. She closes her eyes for a moment, relishing in the feeling of him inside of her. Blinking her eyes open, she moans, and when their eyes lock, her heart stops. In his eyes, she sees everything; lust, desire, need, rage, confusion, sadness, and over it all in a thick layer right at the forefront is love. They glint with every thrust, and she feels the way his fingers dig into her skin. "Elliot," she whispers, letting him pull her body toward him, lift her higher, slam into her harder, deeper. One of her hands slides up his body, she loves the way his powerful arms twitch and flex under her touch. Her fingers curl around his shoulder and she bites her lip as the burn begins to rise.

He sees it written on her face and he shakes his head. "Don't you fucking dare," he hisses, and he hikes her legs up higher around his waist. "You wanna cum, baby, you fucking ask for it, because I'm not fucking ready yet," he lets out a dark chuckle and reaches one hand under her back. He drags her forward, pulls her up, holds her against his chest as he drives into her. "Wait for me," he whispers.

"El," she whines, the two sides of his sexual beast baring their fangs at once. "El, please, baby, please…" Her nails scrape along the skin of his shoulder blades; she hears a hiss of pain and a moan of pleasure. "Elliot," she barely breathes.

He shakes his head and moans from somewhere low and hidden, he knows her nails just broke his skin, and nothing makes him happier. In his line of work, his scars are reminders of close calls and dodged bullets, so he welcomes the ones she leaves on him, marring him with souvenirs of primal need and love like he's never known. Until now. Until her.

Her body starts to shake almost violently, and she's struggling to hold on, fighting like hell because he told her to wait. She claws at his back, her nails sink into him like fishhooks. "Please," she cries meekly, "I'm gonna cum, El."

"No, you're not," he counters, "Not yet." He turns fast and falls back, flattens out on the bench. He moves her now the way he'd moved his weights, pushing her up and bringing her down with forceful slams as his hips rise and thrust, his ass clenches and his balls tighten and he presses his lips together tightly for a moment. "Fuck," he runs his tongue over his mouth, looks up at her, and he smirks as he says, "Gimme your hand."

She's biting her lips sealed as she moves one of her hands across his chest and lays it in his open palm. Her other hand grips his chest for leverage as she lifts and slams over and over again, losing more and more control.

With her fingers tangled in his, he brings his hand toward her red, hot, working pussy. He grins wickedly as he uses their hooked together thumbs to swipe over her clit and he whispers, "Ask for it."

She clamps around him so suddenly that she doesn't have a choice. "Fuck, may I cum?" Her head falls back and her body sinks onto him again, he's deeper inside of her than he's ever been, their pelvises kiss. She rocks against him faster, working him harder, needing to feel him fill her when she lets go.

"Fuck," he growls. "Cum, baby. Cum for me." He rubs her clit harder, faster, watching her neck turn red under the olive green tank, he grimaces as he grunts and cums with a roar of her name.

She shakes for a moment but then her body seizes, clamps around him so tightly neither of them can move. She rolls forward and lets her hair fall over his face as she rides out her intense release. Her eyes are sealed shut, bright bursts of neon flash behind her lids while she quakes and pulses, feeling him twitch and throb as she encases him. Her toes curl in her shoes, she realizes her pants are still around her ankles and her shirt is damp, clinging to her skin the way his scent does.

"Look at me," he says softly, his body sliding backward along the slick, sweaty bench. He lets out a harsh, gravelly breath and a rumble of her name as he sits up and wraps his arms around her. "Look at me, damn it," he repeats, more severity in his tone.

She lifts her head slightly and flutters her eyes open, a light gasp escapes when she sees the way he's gazing at her. She's never seen blue like that before; an unnamed color between sky and sea that shifts and swirls on its own, like a brewing hurricane. "What?" she asks, but it comes out like a prayer, her voice not her own, whisper-quiet, and on a breath that lands on his lips.

His hands run up and down her back, under her shirt. "What the hell has gotten into you?" he smirks, and he rocks up into her to satisfy his craving for more. "You know how much trouble…"

"The look in your eyes," she tells him, her fingers spread against his thick, reddened neck. "You weren't just blowing off steam, you...you looked…" she blinks once. "I had to get your mind off of whatever you were thinking about." She tilts her head as she tries to raise her limp legs off of him. "You wanna talk about it?"

He kisses her as he lifts her up, and he sets her down in front of him. One hand strokes his slick, sensitive cock as he bends over to pull up her pants with the other. He chuckles at the bent buckle but is relieved to see the buttons and zipper are intact. Still stroking, he straightens them out then hooks one finger through her belt loop. "Just found out something...about my dad," he shakes his head and finally lets go of his dick to stand and pull up his own pants. He reaches behind him for the towel draped over the bar of the weights.

She watches him wipe his face, neck, chest, knowing that he worked up more of a sweat fucking her than he did working out. "If you don't want to talk to me, I get it, I'll just go up…"

He grabs her hand before she completes her turn, and he pulls her toward him as he says, "Of course, I wanna talk to you." He rakes the thick fingers of his other hand through her hair, brushing it back and out of her eyes, and he kisses her forehead. "You know how you're always telling me how you feel like half of you is missing, since you don't know who your father is?" His teeth grind over the rim of his bottom lip once. "Baby, sometimes I envy that. Maybe I'd be better off...not knowing."

The crack of her neck as she cranes it to look at him fully echos off the gym's walls. "What the hell did Cragen say to you?"

"You were right," he blows out a heavy breath and tosses the towel over his he grips her hand tighter, and starts pulling her toward the door. He smirks as he grabs her suit jacket off of the bike she'd hung it on and hands it to her with a soft, "Here."

"I was right? About what," she walks with him, he unlocks the door and pulls her through it, but once they're in the locker room, she steps in front of him and shakes her head, confused. "Stop moving, what happened?"

His brows knit and he chokes on a halted breath. "You were right when you told me that…" He drops her hand and plods over to the wall of lockers, wincing at the dented one, a reminder of how different his life was little more than a week ago. Letting his fingertips trace the crater left by his fist, he speaks. "You said that I'm a better man, a better father, and a better cop than my father ever was."

"Or ever could be," she waits until he looks at her and then nods with a conviction she feels in the pit of her soul. She works her arms into her blazer and tugs on it. A physical exclamation point. "I know I was right. I usually am." She hears him chuckle and lets herself smile.

He smiles back at her, knowing that she absolutely believes it. "I defended him to you, to...to everyone, and he…" both of his eyebrows wave and wiggle as the thoughts work their way across his forehead. With a clearing of his throat, he pulls open his locker and grabs his baby blue oxford, the one she chose for him because it brings out his eyes. As he pulls off his damp tee, he takes in a hard breath. "I was wrong. So fucking wrong."

She moves to him and swats his hands away, and while she buttons him up, she says, "I'm listening."

His head lolls a bit; she takes his pants and dress shoes out of his locker and gives him a silent order. As he kicks his sneakers off and nonchalantly drops his sweats, he tells her, "I looked up to him, Liv. I fucking idolized the man I thought he was behind the badge. I wanted to be him because when he was at work, he was a fucking hero, people in this city worshipped him, and he saved...so many lives." He doesn't realize there's a single tear dangling off the edge of his right eye. "He cared about them more than his own family, for years," he sniffles and his lips curl just enough to be considered a smile when she rolls up his pants, zips them, and stands before him. "I wanted to make him proud. Follow in his footsteps, become half the cop I thought he was, fucking be something or somebody that would finally make him see that I wasn't a waste and maybe he'd see that I finally got something right." He feels it then, the tear, as it rolls down his cheek.

She catches it with puckered lips, a soft kiss, and she whispers, "Breathe."

"He was losing his job anyway because he was just as much of a dick at work as he was at home," he finally says, and he looks down at himself, dressed by his lover. He only moves his eyes, the shift in his gaze hits her dark, worried features. "So he wasn't more concerned about anyone, other than himself, and I became a cop for fucking nothing. He wasn't proud of me, at all, he was...fuck, I knew he was jealous because I rose to the top a lot faster than he did, but he never once said he was proud of me, and now I know why."

She folds her arms, jerks her neck to force her hair out of her face, and she looks at him with nothing but love in her eyes. "You became a cop for the same reasons you thought your father did. You wanted to be a hero, save people, and that's exactly what you're doing. You prove, every day, that you can play Superman and still be the best fucking father in the Goddamned world. People in the whole fucking state know who you are and they do worship you, Elliot. You've got the commendations and newspaper clippings to back that up." She lets her right brow rise in an authoritative challenge.

He stares in stunned silence, fumbling to tie his navy blue tie.

She rolls her eyes and as she wraps the knot for him, she continues. "Your father knows exactly what you've become, and I swear, he's looking down on you regretting every moment he lost, everything he took for granted, and yeah, he's still jealous of you...because you _are_ a better man, a much better father, and a better fucking cop than he was. He may never have told you he was proud of you, and I'm sorry about that...but I'm proud of you." She pats the finished Windsor, looks up at him, and chews on the inside of her cheek for a beat. "Your children are proud of their daddy."

Suddenly he doesn't remember why he was upset. He leans in to kiss her but she moves away and he feels the sting in every muscle and nerve he has. "What, you say shit like that and then you…"

"We've already crossed the line at work, too many times," she says softly, "And that door's not locked." She sees the hurt in his eyes, but she's just remembered why she came to find him in the first place, and the thought makes her sick to her stomach. "We should...get back upstairs, actually do some work sometime today." She takes a breath and squeezes his arm. Moving away from him, she now regrets promising to stay in the house with him, regrets agreeing, in Latin no less, to co-sign a lease on a new place when he finds one. It's a promise she now believes she won't have to keep.

"You don't get to fucking do this," he snaps, and he rushes to her. "You started it this time, so what...this was one last fuck before you…"

"God, no, fuck," she moans, her eyes close in resignation. "I got a phone call from…" she waits. "Um, your lawyer."

His angry eyes suddenly widen in understanding. "Jesus, why didn't you tell me?" He drops one hand to the small of her back and pushes the door open as he asks, "What the fuck did he want?" He scoffs. "Wish he would have told me before he called you, but...what did he say?"

"He needs a full disclosure statement," she rubs her fingers across her forehead as she steps into the hallway and says, "You know, a character reference, personal accounts of your whereabouts, if you were always working when you said you were. It was a formal request, and he needs it by five o'clock." She checks her watch. "Shit, on top of our workload today, I guess...um...I'll write it on my lunch."

"You said...wait, no, my lawyer wouldn't need any of that unless..." he sees the guilt flash in her eyes. "My lawyer didn't call you." He grits his teeth and as they start to round the corner, he almost growls in her ear. "Who wants your statement?"

She blinks once, takes a breath, and then she tells him. "Kathy."

**A/N: Next: ? Review? Meep?**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: A .44 full of bullets. Face full of pale. Eyes full of empty. A stare full of nails. (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, the timelines of some cases and details have been altered. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

The phone call he'd made to his lawyer after they'd left The Labyrinth was not a happy one, and now, at the crime lab, he decides to make the call to Kathy. He dials as he walks fast, from the car to the entrance, and he forgets that Olivia is right next to him and that they're walking toward the glass doors of the ballistics lab. "What the fuck are you trying to pull?" he asks as soon as Kathy answers the phone. Clearly, he's not a fan of cordial greetings to anyone at all anymore. "Oh, you didn't think she'd tell me? Fuck, Kathy, she's my partner! She tells me everything! Especially, ya know, when it fucking concerns me!"

Olivia flinches at the way his voice carries, the way the reverb rattles the carts and metal shelves around him. "People are…"

"I don't give a fuck if people are staring!" he shouts at her, and then he gestures angrily at the phone pressed against his ear. "I need to deal with this before…" he pauses as Kathy says something. "No, you fucking know damn well she wouldn't lie, and there's nothing she could possibly say that would...you would only need it if you were coming after me for the...oh, fuck you, Kathy! Just ask them! They're not toddlers, ya know, they can fucking make their own damn decisions!"

Olivia looks around, rocking on her heels, and when she spots one of the lab techs staring at them, she narrows her eyes. "Don't you have a job to do?" she spits, and she grins slightly when the man's eyes widen and he rushes away faster than he probably needs to. She turns and slaps Elliot in the arm. "If your bid for _Husband of the Year_ can wait, we have a job to do, ourselves."

He makes a face at her, his brows knit and the corners of his lips turn down, then he shoots his middle finger up at her and blows her a kiss. "No, I have to go, but you fucking clean up the mess you made or I swear to God, Kathy…" he squeezes the bridge of his nose and inhales deeply, slowly, and then exhales as he says, "Right, fine." and hangs up.

"Are you good?" She asks him the question with her angled downward, her eyes gazing up at his. Concern laces her words and she has to consciously keep her hand from reaching for his arm.

He nods, then clears his throat as he takes the final two steps toward the doors to ballistics. "I'm good," he nods, and he leans closer to her. He smooths his green tie down as he whispers, "I'll be better when we get home, and I get even with you for that little stunt you pulled in the locker room." He growls softly and hisses, "You broke your own rule."

She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms. Her olive green tank crinkled as she shifted to get into. "I wasn't aware we had…"

"Keep it out of the office. That's a rule," he snaps, and then he winks at her and pulls the door open a bit wider. "Marcus, my man," he low-fives the tech who's sitting at the table, "Tell me something good."

"I just told him," Marcus throws a thumb toward a young, handsome man in a tee-shirt and jeans who's leaning against a cabinet. "Bullet from the sex bench and the old man are definitely from the same gun."

"I got mine," Paul Falsone smirks, letting go of the counter and adjusting the shiny gold badge on his hip. He holds up a small, sealed evidence bag, letting it dangle between two fingers. He looks at Olivia and nods, licking his lips. "I don't know if I told you earlier, Benson. Green," he says, and he shoves the bagged bullet into his pocket. "Really looks good on you." He straightens up and takes a step in Olivia's direction, licking his lips again.

Elliot narrows his eyes as he immediately steps between Olivia and Falsone, keeping them as far apart as possible. "Stabler," he says, raising a brow and holding out his hand. He is oblivious to Olivia rolling her eyes behind him.

"I know who you are," Falsone says, shaking Elliot's hand firmly. "You're kind of a big deal in this city." He crosses his arms and says, "Paul Falsone."

"Yeah," Elliot scoffs. "I know." He feels Olivia elbow him in the side and he holds out an open palm to Marcus. "If he's got the bullet from Norm Southerland, that means we get the bullet from the…"

"Right here," Marcus gives Olivia a printed report in a manilla folder, then hands Elliot a sealed bag containing a bullet that matches the one that Falsone has in his pocket. He points across the hall and says, "Trace has something for you. Something that could crack your case wide open."

"Thanks, man," Elliot gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder and then taps Olivia to get her to follow him through the doors. He turns, though, when he hears something he doesn't like happening behind him. He watches, nearly helpless, as Falsone stands too close to Olivia for his liking. He feels the blood that had only just settled begin to boil again as he sees Paul reaching out, watches him tuck some loose strands of hair behind Olivia's ear. "Liv," he shouts too loudly, too boldly. "Let's go."

She gives Paul a polite smile as she turns and follows Elliot out of the ballistics lab, and while they're walking across the hall, she says, "Will you calm down?"

"What the fuck was that back there?" he says, his jaw clenched. He shoves the bagged casing into his pocket and scoffs. "The way he was looking at you…"

"I can't keep people from flirting with me, Elliot," she snaps, and her eyes dart to the door to the trace lab. "I didn't flirt back, did I?" she quips, shaking her head. "Even if I did, it wouldn't…" she stops, knowing he doesn't need any more provocation at the moment. "Can we just focus? Christ," she rolls her eyes and storms into the trace lab.

He drags a hand down his face and follows her, hoping he can lower his blood pressure before he gets himself in trouble.

By the time they get back to the station, they have a suspect in the box who has one hell of a motive and no alibi. Cragen watches from behind the two-way mirror, his arms folded, his eyes trained on Elliot, watching for the signs, waiting to pull him out of the room if he needs to, because he senses it's going to happen and hopes he's wrong.

In the room, Olivia has her hands in her pockets, her boots clack against the stone as she walks back and forth, attempting to make the man in the chair nervous. "You tell us, your version of events, Larry," she says, and she stops right in front of him, gives him a crooked smile, and says, "Tell us why you don't think you did anything wrong."

"She killed me first," the man says, swiping his hand over his greasy hair. "I was just...getting even."

Olivia moves around to the back of his chair, she's not aware that Elliot is rounding the other side, cracking his knuckles. "When did you find out that she was HIV positive? That she infected you?" she asks, leaning over. Her hands are on her knees. "How long did it take for you to plan to kill her?"

Elliot doesn't give him the chance to answer, he pulls him up out of his chair by his collar and slams him into the wall behind him. "You didn't know she was pregnant, did you?" he asks, his voice low and rough. He pulls him back, raises him off the ground slightly, and slams him harder into the concrete. "You're going down for three murders, you son of a bitch," he grits out.

"Elliot," she tries, but she sees he isn't listening. "Stabler, stop it! Let him go!" She moves to pull him off of the suspect, but what he does next stops her in her tracks.

Elliot grabs the man's arm and twists it back hard, baring his teeth like an angry bear. He's taking his rage from the day out on the person he thinks deserves it, the driving force is the knowledge that their victim was three months pregnant. "You raped and killed a woman, killed her child," he seethes, hot breath filling his lungs and leaving his nostrils like a steamed bull. He can't help it. He thinks back to Kathy, trying the most underhanded tricks in the world to win a battle he hadn't agreed to fight. He thinks of Paul Falsone, the smug son of a bitch, who assumes he is allowed to hit on Olivia. Everything hits him at once, and the death of a child is merely the Alka-Seltzer in the Coke bottle. He pulls on the bastard's shoulder again, hears a slight pop, ignores the man's whimpering cry, then leans into him and says, "You didn't even have the balls to look her in the eyes, you son of a…"

"Stabler!" Cragen yells as soon as he bursts through the door, "Drop him, and get the hell out of here!" He points to the door and says, "Now!"

Elliot drops the man back to the floor, turning fast. He sees how red Cragen's face is, how angry the man looks, and he shoots his eyes toward Olivia. He watches her face fall, the color drain from it, and he nods once at her as he pulls down his sleeves and bolts, pushing past Cragen and storming into the pit. His attempt at calming down is shot to shit when he almost runs into Paul Falsone, who sneers at him before heading into the interrogation room. He takes a step back toward the door, but Cragen cuts him off. He points at the window and starts, "What the fuck is he…"

"I warned you," Cragen points an irritated finger at him, lowering his voice and looming forward. "I told you, one more step out of line, one more incident, then I wouldn't have a choice." He juts his finger toward the door to the bullpen, and he says, "Go the hell home! You just earned yourself three days on the bench. You keep telling me you're nothing like your father, you have three damn days to figure out how to prove it."

Elliot jabs at the window again, shaking his head. "You're gonna let my partner run this with someone who isn't even…"

"He has every right to be in there! It's a joint investigation," Cragen interrupts. "You're officially off this case, and for the next three days, she isn't your partner! In fact, she's working solo because of your temper. Get out, go home." He feels how hot his cheeks are, he can hear his heartbeat in his ears, and he swallows hard as he tries to keep his authority in check. "Go, Elliot. Now."

With a loud, bitter scoff, he shakes his head, smacks the side wall as he leaves the pit. Mumbling under his breath, he grabs his coat and keys, and walks out of the squadroom, hoping he figures out what the hell just happened before he gets home.

He says nothing to anyone as he storms out of the squadroom. He punches the door to the stairs open, knowing he dented the metal and not caring at all. Taking the steps two at a time, he huffs and puffs, trying to forget that he's broken a promise, one he swore he'd never break.

He's tense as he walks out of the building and toward his car, holding his breath as he gets behind the wheel. As he drives, his muscles twitch beneath his shirt. He curses at every stoplight, pounds his fists against the steering wheel before every turn. He hits the gas when he gets to the tunnel, his mind moving just as fast back to the precinct, where his partner, his lover, is in the middle of a heated interrogation with a man he doesn't trust. His heart pounds faster, harder, the closer he gets to home, the farther away he gets from Olivia.

When he parks in his driveway, he closes his eyes. He takes a sharp breath, feels the ache in his chest as his lungs burn, and he lets it out with a shudder. He can't go into the house angry; he can't break another promise tonight.

"Hi, Daddy," Lizzie shouts as she practically jumps off of the couch and runs to him, smiling.

"Hey, pumpkin," he whispers, kneeling to catch her running hug. He closes his eyes as he holds his youngest daughter, exhaling, trying to relax. "Did you have fun at preschool to…"

"Where's Liv?" Dickie interrupts, his little head tilts to the side and he blinks as he walks over to his father, his socked feet slipping on the hardwood as he moves. "Is she leaving us? Like Mom?"

Elliot's heart sinks, and he turns up sad eyes but a warm smile at his five-year-old son. "No, kiddo, she's just...she's still at work. But I got some time off to, uh...start packing up the place." He taps the boy on his nose. "You're gonna love your new room," he lies, knowing full well he doesn't even have a place, yet, only that Olivia promised to help them move, split the rent...stay with him. He ruffles the boy's hair and as he gets to his feet, he takes off his trench and blazer, and as he hangs them on the rack, he asks, "Did they eat yet?" He directs the question to the teenager on the couch.

The young boy runs a hand through his dark, curly hair as he stands. "I made them macaroni and cheese and hot dogs," he shrugs. He grabs his bookbag and his laptop, then moves toward Elliot. He offers a handshake and says, "This one's off the books, Detective Stabler. I can't charge you for…" he checks his watch. "I mean, I just walked the kids home from school, made sure they did their homework, and gave them something to eat. It's only been three hours."

Elliot chuckles as he pulls out his wallet. "Three hours with my four little monsters is enough to earn a full night's pay." He hands the young man two fifty-dollar bills and slaps him in the shoulder. "You're a good kid, Kenny. Don't, uh, don't tell your dad I paid you for the full night, I know him. He'll make you give it back."

Ken Tutuola laughs, nods at Elliot, and says, "So, you said you got a couple of days off? So you don't need me to pick the little guys up tomorrow?"

Elliot shakes his head. "No, uh, probably not until Monday. Thanks, for everything, Kenny. Can you get home, okay?"

"Yeah, of course," Ken laughs and nods, gives Elliot another handshake, and then walks toward the door.

Elliot watches him leave, and then he drags his hand down his face and lets out another heavy breath. He turns, plastering on a smile, and waves his twins over to him as he sits on the couch. He takes the space between his two older girls, makes an exaggerated groaning noise when Lizzie and Dickie climb into his lap, and he drops his head back. He's going to love every moment spent with his kids, but beneath it all, he's still festering and brooding with no way to vent, no way to let go. Not for hours.

He plays a few hands of _Go Fish_ with his children, makes sure they take their baths and brush their teeth. He reads them each a bedtime story, and for a moment, he's happier than he's been all day, but as he kisses them on their cheeks and tucks them in, his conversation with Kathy plays like an out of tune song in his head. He changes into a pair of sweats and a tee-shirt, trying to forget the threats and foul words, but now that his kids are asleep he's left alone with his thoughts and it's one of the only things he can think about.

He plods down the stairs and fixes himself a drink. He winces as he takes the first sip and he wanders over and drops onto the couch, wondering how he'd managed to fuck up his entire life in a single day. He takes another gulp of the hard, amber drink, asking himself how much longer Olivia could possibly be, because it's nights like this that he needs a fucking cigarrette, and he doesn't smoke around her. He doesn't even drink around her, because when she's around, she is his only vice. He thinks back to Falsone, the way he'd looked at Olivia, and he's terrified that the prospect of someone else will be enough to give her a way out. He knows she has doubts about their relationship, Falsone is a threat. He swings back his whiskey and growls. He's losing his grip on everything else, and now, he fears, he's losing her, too.

It's almost midnight when the waiting becomes too much, and he's three drinks in. He's had far too much time to overthink and he's got a few things he needs to say to her, tonight, but now he's just worried about her. He pulls out his phone to call her, find out where the hell she is, but the turning of the knob catches his attention. He puts his phone and his short glass of whiskey, on the rocks, down on the coffee table and runs toward the door as fast as his bare feet will allow. "What the hell took so fucking long," he snaps at her in a whisper. It had taken too long to get all four kids to sleep; he refuses to do anything that would wake them up. "Do you have any idea what the hell was going through my mind all damn night?"

She closes her eyes and turns away from him. "I just walked through the damn door," she whips back at him, and she tosses a large black duffle bag into the corner. "You threw a fucking hissy fit, so I had to run the investigation with two rookies who can't even lace their own boots the right way!"

He feels something in him snap at her words, he knows she'd been in a position she hates to be, tonight, and it's his job to get her out of it. His smirk widens as he figures out exactly how to do it.

She kicks her bag again and then turns to him. "The least you could do is wait until I take off my coat before you…"

"Let's get a few things straight," he hisses, his jaw tight. He pulls off her leather coat for her, hangs it on a hook beside his, and then wraps his fingers around her suit jacket. As he slips it off of her shoulders he says, "The next time some hot-shot cop puts the moves on you, the first words out of your mouth better fucking be 'I'm seeing someone," he says softly. "And what were you gonna say, back at the lab. Even if you were flirting with him...what? What the fuck was that?"

She eyes him for a moment, her mouth goes dry as she takes in the fact that he hasn't shaved, yet, the beginnings of scruff on his chin make him look more devilish than usual. She hides her sudden arousal as she says, "Even if I was, it wouldn't be your place to do or say anything about it, not at work. That's a rule, remember? We both agreed, as far as anyone in the department knows, we're just partners, so you can't fly off the handle if…"

"You," he stops her as he grabs her shoulders and pulls her closer to him, lowering his voice, "Are not allowed to flirt with people, Benson." He grins at her, seeing the way her eyes have flitted down his body, the way they've hovered a bit too long on the drawstrings of his sweats. He cups her chin and lifts her head, and when she looks into his eyes, his smile flattens. He swallows hard and his free hand unties the white strings at his waist. "He try anything with you? Huh? Is that what took so fucking long?"

She shakes her head slowly. "Guy wouldn't cop to killing Norm," she says, and she feels him moving, shuffling. "Falsone...can't break people the way you can. No one can, and Cragen knows it." She slips her fingers between the elastic of his sweats and his skin, and she teases the fabric, pulling lightly, back and forth. "I only got him to crack when they finally left me alone with him, his arraignment's in the morning," she says too quietly.

He gives a silent chuckle. "You didn't answer the question, did he try anything?" He keeps her chin in his hand, stopping her head from turning. She can't look away from him, so she can't lie to him. "Tell me," he says, and he bites his lip when he feels her hand slide into his pants. "Liv," he breathes.

"He did," she says, and she moves closer to him. Her lips hover over his as she says, "And I told him...I'm seeing someone." She raises a challenging eyebrow. "So now you need to tell me if I lied to him, because your wife is…"

"Insane," he chokes out, trying not to moan at the way her hand feels wrapped around his cock. "We already agreed to keep this quiet at work, but fuck, you are still mine, Olivia, no matter where the fuck you are." He swipes his thumb under her right eye once, then moves his hand from her chin to the top of her head. "Mine," he repeats with clenched teeth. He pushes on her head, an action caught between a command and a plea.

She sinks to her knees, pulling the black cotton over his hips and down his legs, and she lets her eyes roll upward, staying on his as she moves forward, taking his dick into her mouth.

As the wet heat envelops him, his head falls back against the wall. "Fuck," he spits. "And I'm yours. All fucking yours." His jaw drops and he fists her hair, losing himself in the way she takes him all in, the way she wants it as much as he does. "Fuck, yes," he thrusts gently, twice, and then he pulls her hair upward, telling her to stand. "You," he whispers when their eyes meet again. "You're in for it," he grits out, and he spins her around, nearly tripping on the pants around his ankles. He kicks them off and stares into her eyes as he unbuckles, unbuttons, and unzips her pants. He slowly rolls them down and says, "I told you, I'd get even." He winks, and before she can speak, he's rolling his tongue up and down her wet slit, moaning at her taste.

"Shit," she sighs, and her hands are searching for something, anything to hold onto. "El," she moans. Her eyes roll when he pushes his tongue deeper and swipes up.

He moans again, closing his eyes, and he bends lower only for a moment to get her left leg up onto his shoulder. When he rises up on his knees again, the move shifts her body and spreads her farther open for him. The noise he makes is the perfect blend of victory and satisfaction. He looks up at her, and he watches her face, her eyes, as he flicks his tongue over her clit rapidly before wrapping his lips around it and sucking hard.

Her hands fly to the back of his head as her legs start to shake. "Elliot," she moans softly, her voice wavering as her entire body starts to tremble. "I can't...fuck, I'm gonna…"

"I got you," he tells her before returning to the task of bringing her sweet release. He'd lost control, today, more than once, he knows it. But this? This is what he can and will control, for the rest of his life. How she cums, how often, when, where, how many times in a row, this is the control he needs and he is thankful she has so willingly given it to him. "Baby," he says, eyeing her. He spreads her wider with his fingers, and hooks one arm around her other leg. "I got you," he breaths, and he nods as he delves into her, running his tongue in circles and diagonals, driving her crazy. He latches onto her clit again and his eyes roll back into his head as she cums. He can feel her pulse on his tongue, he's lapping up every new drop she gives him, and her moans and soft cries of his name alone are enough to make him explode.

She crumples slightly, and true to his word, he has a tight hold on her. She grinds herself into him, feeling him diving in for more. His growl makes her entire body vibrate, and she moans again. "Baby, please," she whispers, and she tugs on the fabric of his shirt. She needs him somewhere else now.

He gives her one more long, slow lick, from the very bottom of her body to her belly button, and he kisses every spot he can reach as he lowers her legs and pushes himself to his feet. He doesn't realize he's stroking his cock until she takes over for him. He gasps when her hand wraps around his and pulls it away, and he drops his head to her neck when she starts her strokes, rough, fast. "Oh, God, Liv…" he nips at her skin, sucks and bites, and he turns just enough to suck her left earlobe into his mouth. He lets it go, he's panting into her ear as his hands reach for the backs of her knees, and he whispers, "I need to be inside you."

His words make her weak and she lets her hand fall away from his shaft to loop her arms around his neck. "Good," she says softly. The moment he looks back at her, she says, "Because, God, El, I need you inside me."

He slams his mouth over hers as he thrusts his hips, sheathing himself inside her. His entire body shakes and he doesn't move for a moment. He kisses her deeply, and he nudges her nose with his to get her to open her eyes. "Look at me," he whispers, and as he very slowly pulls out, he kisses her lips. "Baby, look at me." Once her eyelids raise, he drops his forehead to hers. He keeps his eyes open, and through slow thrusts and soft kisses, he tries like hell to convince her that he's not what everyone else thinks he is.

He needs her to believe that he is more than arrogance and attitude, but he knows he has only just begun to show her any different. He's been so closed off and so tightly wound for so long, that two weeks of pure freedom isn't enough, yet, to undo the damage. "Tell me," he grunts as he slams back into her, "Tell me you love me."

She cups his face, gripping hard, and she kisses him deeply to catch her moan of his name as she cums again. When their lips part, she whispers, "I love you. So fucking much." She tries to roll her hips into his, meet each of his eager, deep thrusts, knowing he's never satisfied with one, and thanks to him, she can fight through the tingles and pinpricks to give more than that. "I do," she whispers to him, she sees the shift in his eyes and she knows something is wrong, something is keeping him from letting go.

With a low and deep rumbling growl, he peels her away from the wall, holding her tightly. Still thrusting slowly, he walks her to the sofa and lays her down, and he peppers her neck and chin with soft kisses as he speeds up. He slams into her harder, deeper, and his hands find the bruises on her hips they'd left there a few nights ago. He runs his fingers over them gently, then wraps his palms around unmarked skin as he kisses her, letting his tongue dance with hers. He catches her moan, feels her tighten again, and he knows this time he's going with her. "I love you," he says, and he works to thrust even deeper, needing to reach parts of her no one else ever has, that she doesn't know exist, because that's exactly what she's fucking doing to him. "I love you," he tells her again, and he makes sure he pulls out all the way before sliding home one last time.

She closes her eyes, the sparks igniting behind her lids are blinding anyway, and she knows she's louder than she intends. "Elliot," she cries, her nails clawing at his back.

He's got the skin of her neck in his mouth, muffling his own grunts as he lets her convulsions and pulsing pussy take from him. He doesn't try to fight it, tonight he doesn't need to be so punishing to himself. His ass clenches, he feels himself twitching and her whimpers prove him right, and he kisses her slowly as they both try to come back down.

She caresses his back slowly, her fingers drawing shapes and patterns over the angry scratch marks already there. There's silence as he kisses her, every so often their bodies jerk together, and when it no longer hurts to breathe, she takes the chance. "What brought that on?" she asks. "That wasn't just you being jealous, because if that's all it takes, then you would have fucked me five ways from Friday the day we met." She kisses his chin as they share a laugh.

He inhales and shakes his head, and then clings to her tightly as he tries to roll them over without falling off of the couch. He swings an arm up to grab the throw blanket and covers them up. He runs his fingers through her hair and closes his eyes, and he moans softly when she starts dropping light kisses to his chest. "Fucking...Kathy...she has no right to ask you to write a statement, and you know, she was only trying to see if you'd slip up and say something she could use to take the kids…" shaking his head, he stops. He realizes he's calmer with her in his arms, she takes the edge off, and it's something he needs to figure out how to channel, all the time.

"Is that it?" she asks. "I wrote her stupid statement, by the way. Gave a copy to your lawyer, and hers, and whatever she was trying to pull…" she gives him a sideways smile. "It ain't happening."

He smiles and kisses her again, then sighs. "And then that fucking...I know, I know, I got jealous, too jealous," he sighs and works his hand against her head with more pressure, almost massaging. "But it's because part of me thinks you're not ready for...what I need from you."

She props herself up, her arms folded across his chest. "What do you need from me?"

He kisses her forehead and says, "Everything."

She squints. "Whatever it is, just tell me." She kisses him softly. "I think I've already proven that, uh, I'm very willing to do whatever you tell me to do," she licks the rims of his lips and whispers, almost too softly to hear, "Sir."

The way he moans is more like an earthquake than a man, his body trembles, and he bucks upward into her again. He weaves a hand through her hair and pulls hard, biting his lip when he watches her eyes roll. "It goes both ways," he nods, and he kisses her once. "Just remember that." He nuzzles her nose and says, "I promise, I'm going to give you...everything you fucking want and need." He chuckles. "You can handle it, huh?"

She nods, laughing, and she feels him wrap his arms around her. They rise off the couch, her in his hold, the blanket curled around them. She laughs, taking the ride he's giving her, as he hikes her up on his hip and collects the rumpled clothes and her duffel bag.

He doesn't let her go until they make it upstairs and into his bedroom. He sets her down on the bed then drops her bag to the floor and kicks it aside. He throws their dirty clothes into the hamper and then he crawls onto the bed and curls his body around hers. He works the covers up and over them, and he whispers, "I love you," as he pulls her tighter to him.

As he falls asleep, the smile on his face turns into a sly smirk. She's already promised that she's with him all the way, but tomorrow?

He'll make her prove it.

**A/N: Next: ? Review? Meep?**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: A .44 full of bullets. Face full of pale. Eyes full of empty. A stare full of nails. (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, the timelines of some cases and details have been altered. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

It's weird, still being in his sweatpants and tee-shirt at nearly noon, but he isn't complaining. He'd gotten up early enough to make slow, sweet love to Olivia before she left for work, he'd made the kids breakfast and drove them to school. He'd run errands and did work around the house that he'd been avoiding, and he'd finally called the realtor to accept an offer on the place.

All this, and it's still only noon. He shakes his head as he wraps the frame in his hands in the sheet of bubble wrap laid out on the table. He grumbles something about almost eleven years worth of memories fitting into twenty cardboard boxes, and he squeezes the wrapped frame a bit too hard on his way to box number six. "Shit," he snaps as one of the bubbles pops under his touch. He sighs, places the frame on the top of the stack in the box, and he looks around what used to be the living room and is now a couch surrounded by the echoes of a previous life.

Bare walls, no furniture but for the sofa, and he laughs at the different colored square off to the side where he'd once painted around a shelving unit he'd been too lazy to move. He laughs but then his new reality seems to hit him all at once. His job? In jeopardy as it is, owing to his uncontrollable temper and high-octane testosterone. Add in his multi-faceted, unexplainable relationship with his partner and he might as well consider himself an ex-detective. His family? So far, he's got his kids, but Kathy plays dirty, always has, always will. He doesn't know what Olivia's statement says, if it helps or hurts, and he isn't sure he wants to find out just yet. His house? No longer his, and where he's going is up in the air until Olivia gets home.

Again, the road leads back to Olivia.

He closes his eyes for a moment, then, and chuckles to himself. Taking a deep breath, he ignores the rest of the frames that need to be wrapped, and he shoves his feet into a pair of sneakers waiting by the door. He checks his watch and nods, as if agreeing with the time. He knows what she's been through already today, and he knows it's partly his fault. He grabs his keys and jacket off their respective hooks and he grins, hoping what he's about to do will make up for it all. Once he's in his car, he shifts gears and aims to beat his own record for time spent getting from Queens to Manhattan.

Without traffic, with his dash-light spinning, breaking every speed-limit law on every road, it takes him twenty minutes. He parks his SUV in a guest spot at the station, and he whistles as he gets out of the car and walks toward the front doors. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, sends two texts to Olivia, and he waits on the stoop. He doesn't want to go in; for the next two days, he's not concerned with anything or anyone in that building except Olivia. He sees her, through the glass doors, coming down the hall, his instant smile turns sour though, when he sees Falsone walking right beside her.

He cracks his knuckles and he hears himself growl, but when Olivia pushes through the doors and wraps her arms around him, he forgets his anger for a moment. "Hey," he whispers.

"Where are we going?" she asks, and she eyes him up and down. She licks her lips, seeing his muscles bulge and strain against the tight grey tee, she moans softly at the way the v-cut of his body peeks out of the low-slung sweats. She swallows hard, her hands slip down his chest, and then back away into her blazer pockets. "You, uh, you got all dressed up for lunch, huh?"

The way his lips curl into an unreadable smile isn't lost on either of them. "What I'm wearing doesn't really matter," he says, and he grabs her wrist, pulls her hand out of her pocket, and leads her to the lot. He helps her into the passenger seat and he hopes, as he slams the door, that she won't be too angry when they get to where they're going.

When he climbs into the driver's seat, he leans over the console and kisses her deeply, and then whispers, "Buckle up."

She can tell by the way he says the words, and the look in his eyes that comes with them, that he doesn't just mean her seatbelt. She stays silent as they drive, and when she realizes where he's taking her, she furrows her brow. "Um, question…" she holds up a finger.

"No questions," he states, and he pulls up to the curb in front of her apartment. He takes a deep breath and gets out of the car, runs around to open her door, and he says, "You were serious when you said you'd move…"

"Yeah, but I didn't think you mean on my lunch break," she quips, rolling her eyes.

He laughs as he hooks his arm around her waist and practically carries her up the front steps. He waits as she slides the card key through the lock, then pushes the door open for her. "No, uh, I just...got a lot accomplished this morning, and, um…" he runs with her, up the stairs, knowing the elevator would take too long right now. As he pulls her along, he shuffles the keys around in his head, and when he finds the one he wants, he lets out a victorious grunt. "I, uh, took the liberty of packing up some of your stuff this morning, before I started at the house."

She raises a brow, half-annoyed and half-intrigued, and she follows him as he guides her out of the stairwell, down the hall, toward the door to her apartment. "How many calming breaths should I take before we go in there?"

He laughs. "Uh, just one, I think," he chuckles, and he closes his eyes and prays as he opens her door. He watches with shallow breaths as she steps into the almost empty space. He loves the way her brown pants hug her hips and elongate her legs, the way the matching blazer hangs loosely over a skin-tight black tank. He wonders, only briefly, how the suit will look in a puddle at her feet, but he knows he's going to find out soon enough. "I figured, uh, we only have a couple more days to use the place to its fullest potential."

No sound comes from her as she looks around the room, blank-walled and vacuumed, and she sees a few boxes stacked in the corner. "Where's the rest of my stuff?" she asks softly, her eyes glued to the only piece of furniture in the room. One that isn't even hers. It's new. It's only here for one reason. She moves closer to the black, angular cushioned table, runs one hand along the outstretched bars, and blinks once. "Elliot?"

"Storage," he says, slowly walking toward her. "Take that off," he points to her blazer.

Her head whips toward his and she meets his darkened eyes. Obediently, she pulls the brown cotton off of her arms and lets it drop to her floor. "You actually bought one of these things?"

"It's all I could fucking think about, since I saw it in that woman's bedroom," he tells her, moving his hands to her black tank top. He pulls it out of her pants, then lifts it over her head, loving how she willingly moves to allow him. "Pants," he says flatly. Almost instantly, he hears the zipper pull and the fabric rumple, and he smirks. "Good girl," he teases, and he leans forward to kiss her forehead. He hooks one hand around her back to pull at the clasp of her bra, the other swoops between her legs and he moans loudly. "Oh, good fucking girl," he groans as his fingers meet bare, wet flesh. He drags his fingers up, slowly, and when he hears her whimper, he moves his lips toward her ear. He nips at her lobe, sucks it into his mouth as he pushes his middle finger into her, and when he hears her bra drop to the floor, he whispers, "Get on the table, face down."

She gulps, but turns, and her hands grip the leather cushion tightly as she climbs up, dropping her face into the designated space. Her pulse races, her breath quickens, and she feels him moving her arms and legs onto their slats. "Oh, shit," she whispers, feeling him strapping her down. An anticipating moan escapes when she feels him pull her legs wider apart, and she hears him shifting his sweats. She wonders if he'll take them off completely or move them down only enough to give him the mobility he needs to fuck her senseless. After all, she only has an hour.

"Show me," he says, sliding the tip of his disk up and down her wet slit, "How good you are." He presses into her, moans at the way she stretches around him as she takes him in, and he slaps both palms down on her ass hard. "You like that?" He does it again, harder, and thrusts fully into her at the same time.

She yelps and tries to move, but the way he has her bound to the table forbids it. "Yes," she moans.

"Yes...what?" he teases, and his hands curl and grip the rounds of her ass.

She smirks, knowing he can't see it. "Yes, Sir," she complies. It hits her, then, and she has to wonder who told him. He obviously knows how grueling her morning had been, how stiff and severe she'd needed to be, how totally in control. She moans again, his hands squeeze her ass harder as he starts his punishing thrusts. She balls her fingers into fists, feels her toes curl without permission, and she knows that at this angle, this restricted, completely at his mercy, she's going to cum fast, hard, and more than once. It's what he needs, and what he knows she craves.

"You," he growls, and he presses one hand into her body hard as he drags it upward to her neck. "Are," he says, wrapping her hair in his hand. He pulls hard, and he says, "Mine." He leans over as he slams into her, he knows his hot panting in her ear is giving her goosebumps because he can feel them on her skin. "Yes?"

"Yes…" she moans, the way he takes himself all the way out of her and then drives all the way back in is sending every nerve in her body haywire. "Yes, Sir," she moans softly. Her eyes flutter shut when he licks the conch of her ear, and she hears him whisper something against her skin that nearly makes her heart stop altogether. "God, yes," she cries, and when he pulls her hair harder, she adds, "Sir," with a whimper.

He chuckles and slips his other hand away from her ass, between her spread thighs, toward her clit. He knows exactly how to touch her to drive her mad, and he waits until he's pulled out to brush his thumb over her clit. "Tell me," he breathes as he straightens out, "When you want to cum." He thrusts into her hard, pulls out, strokes her clit, slams into her again. It's a pattern now, a rhythm all his own, and he feels the way she tightens and grips every time, her body needing him to stay inside, fighting against his pistoning. "Olivia," he says with a clenched jaw, "Tell me."

"Not yet," she whispers, "Please," she seems to be begging herself, not ready to let go. It proves fruitless, though, as it only makes Elliot work harder, faster, deeper, stroke her clit roughly. "Oh, God," she cries. She can't clench her thighs or grip the bars, there is nothing she can do to stave it off, and that's exactly what he intends. This is completely out of her control. _She _is no longer in control at all.

"Olivia," he sings, tilting his head. "I can feel how much you need it," he says, and his thumb moves faster. He chuckles at the way her legs jerk against the straps, how badly they want to close and clamp around him. "Don't fucking fight it." He grunts and moves faster, even harder, gets deeper inside of her with every buck of his hips. "You can't fight it, baby."

"Oh, my God," she cries, and he's ripping her release from her before she can tell him she's cumming. Her entire body burns and she can feel every single isolated muscle contraction and release as she convulses. He isn't stopping, he's thrusting through her vice-like gripping and she feels the way her body betrays her by giving into him. "Oh, God," she cries.

"Again," his voice commands, his thumb circles over her clit, he leans over and uncurls his hand from her wavy hair. He curves his arm around her, under the U-shaped table, and he tugs and tweaks the first nipple he finds. He drops soft kisses to her slick back and he says, "So fucking sexy, so beautiful," he nips at the thin skin of her shoulder blade. "So incredible, watching you cum, for me." He growls and thrusts again, feeling her tighten around him even more. "Feeling you cum for me." He pulls harder on her nipple, twists it in his fingers, and he lets out an almost evil chuckle. "But you didn't fucking tell me, baby. You know what that means?"

Her eyes close, her lips curl into a satisfied smile, and she whispers, "Yes, Sir," and she hopes he now knows that maybe she still has a bit of control after all. Her victorious moment is short-lived, though, as he kicks his knee out, moving the leg bars of the table, spreading her wider for him. She misses his warmth almost immediately but she moans when she feels his hands set themselves on her hips, as they dig into what she assumes are now permanent bruises in the shapes of his fingerprints. "Oh, God," she says once more, and she knows that she's in for it.

He moves his hips faster, he hears the way his body slaps into hers, he can feel how hard he's slamming against her, and he drops his head back when she starts to pulse around him. "Fuck, you feel so fucking good," he speaks, and his hands move in time with his thrusts. Smoothing over her ass, down the sides of her back, along the perfect line of her spine, until he spreads her lips apart and flicks relentlessly at her clit again. "Ask, this time," he says, and he works even harder, even faster, knowing he won't last much longer either.

Her eyes close, she bites her lip, her body begins to shake and tremble, and she is lost to him. He needs to pull the rigidity from her, make her let it all go, and she will never understand how it's the same fucking thing she needs, but she will always be thankful. "May I cum?" she asks, though her teeth are tightly gnashed together, her entire body engulfed in flame. She doesn't get an answer and she rolls her eyes both in response to his incessant dominance and the way she needs release. "Sir?"

"Cum," he tells her, and he speeds up his thrusting, moves his thumb over her clit more rapidly. "Cum baby, cum for me," he tells her, and he hears her cry his name louder than ever before, while the entire table shakes and wavers. He can feel her pull him deeper and now, he can't move at all. He's locked inside of her as her muscles throb around him, milk him, make him cum the way he's made her. "Oh, fuck, Liv," he spits out harshly, and he stills with his hands wrapped around her waist as he fires, fiery hot and deadly fast, with grunts and a growl of her name that sounds like a mythological beast roaring.

When he stops moving, she takes a deep breath and opens her eyes, surprised by the floor beneath her; for a moment she'd forgotten where she is. "El?" she calls softly, and though he doesn't say anything, she can hear and feel him unbuckling the straps.

He knows her muscles are weak now, being spread eagle for so long takes its toll, and he lifts her into his arms, cradling her to him. He brushes her nose with his, then kisses her deeply, soundly. "I love you," he whispers, and he springs it on her. "I think we should keep this place. Ya know, for, uh…" he licks the spot behind her ear. "Obvious reasons."

"Yes," she tells him, her face buried in her neck. "God, yes," she chuckles. "I can't imagine, uh...keeping all of your new toys in the house with the kids, no matter how many of them fold up." She points to the table and chuckles again, and as he drops her to her feet, she asks, "How did you know?"

He readjusts his sweatpants and then drops to pick up her pants. He holds them out so she can step into them, realizing now how ritualistic this has all become, and he says, "Fin. When I called this morning he, uh, told me you were briefing the rookies, so I knew you had the morning from hell." He kisses her lips softly as he slides the zipper of her brown pants up, and then he says, "I knew you needed to let it all go as much as I needed...to hold onto it." He kisses her cheek and then bends to pick up her bra.

She lets him loop the straps over her arms and shoulders, loving how gentle he is, and she hears the snap of the clasp behind her. She smiles and grabs his hand, and then she says, "I saw the look in your eyes."

He's coming at her with her tank top, his brows knitted, as he asks, "When?" He pulls it down over her head, lets his fingertips graze her skin as he rolls it down and smoothes out the wrinkles. He marvels at the way the dark cotton makes her tan skin look more striking, and he runs his fingertips over her bare arms and shoulders. "Baby?"

She sighs as he hands her suit jacket to her. "When you saw me walking with...Falsone," she hesitates, knowing he hates when she uses the man's first name, "You know you don't have anything to worry about, right? I'm not, uh," she moves into him, tugs on the damp collar of his tee-shirt, and she looks into his eyes, smirking. "I'm not allowed to flirt with him, remember?"

"Damn fucking right," he sneers, and he grins as he slaps her ass and kisses her hard. Pulling back a bit, he exhales. "I know, I just...packing up this place...boxing up the house today, it all made me feel like I was losing everything, and then I see him with you and I know he's not a bad looking guy, he's never been married, he doesn't have kids, he's your age…"

"Yes, because I'm clearly bothered by the whole four years between us," she rolls her eyes, shakes her head, and she says, "I don't care that you've been married already, I love your kids, and you...you make him look like Quasimodo."

He chuckles and kisses her gently. "I just don't want you to think…" he drags a hand down his face as he checks his watch, muffled curses fly as he grabs his keys and coat off the floor. "I don't want you to think that this is some kind of…"

"I know you," she tells him. "I know you and Kathy were as happy as you could possibly be for the first couple of years," she exhales and runs her fingers through her hair, walking out of her apartment as he holds the door open for her. "I even pointed it out in that statement Kathy wanted. The last ten years sucked, but those first two...sure you never wanted to marry her, not until you had to, but you and Kathy and Maureen...for a while, you were happy. It' when you grew up, that it all changed. A couple of kids made a mistake and got married. But a couple of adults need to do what's best for the kids born from that mistake...from the life that mistake gave the two of you for little more than a decade."

He knows there are tears in his eyes and he walks her to the elevator, not trusting his blurry vision with the stairs this time. "You, uh, you said that?"

She nods and says, "I also said that you put those kids of yours first, all the time, you have since the day I met you. I said that I have never seen you yell at them, you've never ignored phone calls, missed conferences…" she bites her lip as she steps into the elevator, and she pushes the button for the lobby. "I said that you are the most passionate person I know, in every sense of the word, I talked about how brave you are, and how this divorce is destroying you but you know it's the best thing for everyone, especially your kids. I said that you have a support system at work, a colleague's son who is more than happy to babysit whenever you need, and...I may have hinted around that you wouldn't be raising the kids alone if the judge granted you any kind of custody." She shrugs and says, "I didn't tell them who'd be helping you, I just know...Kathy can't say the same thing. Judge McHenry can't ignore that."

Elliot wipes his eyes with the backs of his hands, shakes his head, and he lets out a strangled sounding laugh as he pulls her close to him. "Wow, uh, you'd think you love me, or something."

She nods, her head moves against his chest, and she whispers, "I do." She tightens her hold on him, knowing she has to let go sooner than she'd like. "I love you," she whispers, and it's the first time her voice doesn't waver when she says it. Maybe she's getting used to the idea. She takes a breath and as the elevator lands and opens, she asks, "So why did you pack up my apartment without telling me? And when the hell did you buy that…"

"Oh, I, I also bought us a swing," he says with a wag of his eyebrows. "And a pole. I didn't install them, yet, I wasn't sure you'd agree to keep the apartment, it's extra money a month, but I figure splitting everything…" he pauses. He notices they've stopped walking. "What?"

"You bought what now?" She folds her arms. " A pole, for whom?" She blinks a few times and purses her lips.

He licks his own and then leans in to whisper, "We'll take turns," and he winks. "Told you, this goes both ways, no matter what," and he grabs her arm as she starts walking again. "I mean it," he whispers. "I would never ask you or tell you to do anything if I wasn't ready and willing to do it for you."

She nods, knowing that already, and then she says, "You still didn't tell me why you spent the morning moving packing everything you own."

He clears his throat. "House is sold, we have to be out by the end of next week, I figured I'd get a head start on…" he sees the way her lip is caught between her teeth. "Okay, now what?" he gruffs, folding his arms.

"I, uh, I know you sold the house," she says, and she rests her hands on the handle of the passenger side door. "Honestly, the bidder lowballed you. I know you only accepted an offer that low to spite Kathy, but I didn't think..." She shrugs. "You only accepted it this morning, so I assumed you'd wait to start packing, which sucks because now you need to go home and unpack."

He shakes his head as he runs around to the driver's side, but he leans over the hood of the SUV before opening his door. "Liv, I don't think you heard me, we need to be…" He squints at her. "How did you know the bidder lowballed me?"

"El," she smiles at him, and just before she sits down, she says, "I'm the one who made the offer." She tilts her body and says, "You just sold the house to me."

He watches her get into the car, and suddenly the three-hundred-pound weights that have been laying on his shoulders float away. He blinks once, smiles, and he laughs silently as he looks down at the light tan-line where his wedding band once lived. It's not a scar anymore, it's a placeholder, and by the grace of God, he can avoid fucking up the only good thing in his life long enough to seal it over with a promise of permanence.

With Olivia.

**A/N: Next: ? Review? Meep?**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: A .44 full of bullets. Face full of pale. Eyes full of empty. A stare full of nails. (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, the timelines of some cases and details have been altered. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

As he looks around the room, he can't help but smirk. He runs his gaze along the dark walls, the silver sconces brightening it just enough to make it feel less like a dungeon and more like an erotic escape. The new bench is in the middle, where a couch would be, two steamer trunks sit against the wall under the window, each filled with an array of things that, two months ago, he would have been too embarrassed to purchase, afraid that his wife would see the receipts or the boxes and flip. He chuckles at the thought, because he didn't even _want_ to buy any of them two months ago. It wasn't _his wife_ that inspired the need, the want, or the impetus to purchase them.

He bites his lip and tilts his head, then, and walks toward the window. He moves aside one panel of the deep red blackout curtains, peeks out to look at the city below, and he takes pride in the fact that no one out there knows what secrets this tiny fifth-floor walk-up holds. Letting the curtain flap closed again, he turns, and the framed artwork lining the deep grey walls brings him a sense of peace that he's never felt before, and for a moment, he wonders if it's the art or the fact that he is standing in a sanctuary, a place he didn't know he needed until Olivia came along, a place he'd fantasized about but had been afraid to manifest...until he'd had Olivia right where he'd wanted her. Where he's always fucking wanted her.

He hears the key in the lock, his eyes zoom to the turning knob, and he's in front of her before she steps over the threshold. "Close your eyes," he spits out before he even says hello.

She stares at him, her mouth caught halfway between a disbelieving smirk and a full-blown smile. She takes a long look at his bare chest and then rolls her eyes before she closes them, and as she slips her hands into his, she says, "Oh, my morning was great, thanks for asking."

He chuckles and tells her, "You only get an hour for lunch, I'm not wasting it by asking questions I already know the answers to, baby." He kisses the back of her head as he pushes her through the door of what used to be her bedroom. "Open 'em," he whispers.

She gasps, her wide eyes roam over the place, and she asks, "What the hell did you do?" It's not an angry question at all, and she knows he can feel her shaking in his arms. Excitement and anticipation course through her veins as she takes in the fresh coat of cream-colored paint, the new black and gold bedding on the bed, and the fact that her closet doors are gone. In the space once occupied by her clothes and shoes, she sees the newly installed hanging swing, it's silver bars and black elastic seem to wink at her. She licks her lips, curiously nervous, and then she notices that he's also installed the pole, floor to ceiling, and she tilts her head. "You were a busy boy, this morning, huh?"

"Yeah, after I dropped the kids off at Kathy's, I came here." He kisses a spot behind her ear as he peels her coat off of her body. "They're with her tonight," he whispers, and he tosses her jacket over a chair beside him. He turns her around, looks down into her eyes, and he says, "Almost fucking killed myself drilling that pole into the beams." He kisses her nose, then her lips. "But, uh, watching you...dance for me...will make it all so fucking worth it." He gives her a shove and says, "I know you got moves, Benson." He plops onto the bed, checks his watch, and makes a playfully bothered face. "Better get moving, we're down to forty-six minutes."

"You are out of your mind," she says flatly, but she shrugs off her blue blazer anyway and throws it at him. "I have to go back to work, you want me to spin around on this thing and give myself a concussion? Explain that to Cragen, I dare you."

He laughs, a full hearty head-thrown-back belly laugh. "God," he says on a sigh, and he beckons her to him. When she falls into his open arms, he says, "I don't...I don't remember ever being this...happy." He works his hands up her shirt, flattens his rough palms on the bare skin of her back, and slowly he lays back, taking her with him.

She kisses him, her hair falls into his eyes, there's something different in the way he's looking at her and it strikes her like lightning. "You've never been this happy," she surmises, and she tilts her head, bends one leg to work her knee between his thighs. "For the first time in your life, you're living…"

"On my terms," he nods, his nose brushes against hers. "I know." He exhales slowly. "Kiss me." He stares into her eyes and waits, his hands creep up higher and toy with the clasp of her bra.

She bends her head and does as he wishes, kisses him while she raises her arms, and she only pulls away from him long enough for him to pull her shirt and bra off completely. She returns to his lips again, moving her hips as he shoves her pants down and she laughs as she kicks them off, her bare legs rub against his thick cotton sweats.

He grunts as he rolls them over and he refuses to stop kissing her as he pushes the pants off of his hips. He chuckles into their kiss when she uses her feet to finish rolling them away from him, and once he hears them plop to the floor, he rolls them over again. He moans as she works her way between his legs, he can feel how _fucking_ wet she is as she rolls her body against him. "Fuck," he hisses, "Running out of time."

She throws her head back as he thrusts forward slowly, she can feel him slipping into her inch by inch, setting her nerves on fire. "Elliot," she breathes.

He hums as he reaches a hand up, wraps it around the back of her neck, and pulls her down to him. He finds a way to nestle her close, kisses her deeply, and starts to slowly move. Every pass is deep, every thrust is slow and hard. "Baby," he moans, and he wraps his free hand around her right thigh.

She whimpers as she meets his thrusts, takes him into her deeper and deeper every time, and her right hand moves to the side of his face. She pulls back to look at him, his eyes are dark and smoky, they bore their way through her heart and into her soul.

He moves, then, kissing her softly, and he brings the hand around her neck to the side of her face to swipe her tears away with his thumb. He says nothing as he grips her thigh a bit harder and pulls, spreading her just slightly wider. He hits into her harder, moves faster, because he knows they don't have time and he knows what's coming is intense.

She presses her head against his, kisses him, tastes the salt of his tears on her lips as she moves her tongue against his. Her hand is still clutching his face, she rolls in waves trying to get closer to him, get him deeper.

"Close," he whispers. He rubs his nose against hers, kisses her softly, and he says, "Cum, baby." He latches his teeth onto her lower lip, tugs, growls slightly, and whispers, "Fucking cum for me."

She curls herself into him, takes him deeper still, and as his words she loses the control that was not hers to begin with, falling at his feet. "Oh, my God," she cries, and the last of her tears fall at the same moment her body burns and tightens.

"Oh, fuck, yes, baby," he hisses, and he powers through her pulsing vice, slams into her hard, slow but powerful strokes, until he follows her over the edge and goes temporarily blind. He holds her tight, one hand wound around her back the other softly caressing her knee. His lips find hers to catch the scream of her second sharp release, and he lets her ride it out at her own pace, moaning with the searing pain and pure bliss it brings with it.

When she calms, the only thing still moving is her hand. She blinks away the fog and suddenly sees everything so clearly. With a soft sniffle, she says, "I love you," and then on a chuckle, she says, "I can't feel my legs."

"Good," he whispers, smirking at her, and he pulls her closer, lets his fingers dance on her thigh as his unblinking eyes hold hers. "I love you," he says quietly, and he prays for more time, prays that he doesn't have to move from this spot, ever again.

She's never felt safer, more secure, more comfortable, or more completely satisfied in her entire life, and if any part of her had doubted this man and his intentions, that part of her is now dead and buried, because nothing can be denied now.

He closes his eyes and kisses her forehead, and he finds his voice again. "I had no idea it could be like this," he whispers to her.

She blinks up at him, her heart still pounding too fast for her liking. "What?"

When he looks into her eyes, he smiles. "Love," he tells her, and then he slaps her ass hard, watches her face contort into the most profound expression of ecstasy next to the face she makes when she cums. "Go," he says, and he sounds both sad and totalitarian.

She kisses him as she moves, instantly missing his warmth, the way his arms feel around her, the way he feels inside of her. She runs a hand over her navel and grimaces; she's never needed anyone like this, she's never imagined how incredible it would be to do so.

He watches her move, licking his lips, and as she collects her clothes, he rises off the bed. He struts over to her, taking her pants out of her hands, and he winks at her as he bends low to put them on over her legs. He licks his way up her body while dressing her, and when he's upright again, he zips her pants and looms closer to her. "This has never been just a way to get my rocks off," he tells her, and his voice has that arrogant dominance lacing it, the one he knows now makes her weak. "This is it, done, for the rest of my life," he intones, and he hasn't yet blinked or swallowed. He slips her bra straps up her arms as he says, "There'll be nights like...like this...where it's the most incredible, powerful love in the world. Yeah, there'll be days at work where we take a twenty-minute break in the bunkroom and I make you cum so hard your head spins, though you'll fight me on it." He smirks as he drags the cotton of her shirt over her head and when he sees her arms peek through the sleeves he tells her, "And, God damn it, there'll be nights where we fuck, baby. _Fuck_. All night long, when we both feel it the next day, when you can't walk straight and I can't fucking breathe without smelling you on my skin. Do you understand what I am saying to you?"

All she can do is tilt her head, and she raises an eyebrow as she takes her coat from him, hooks her badge and cuffs on her belt, reattaches her holster and gun.

He smirks wickedly at her. "I am saying," he holds her gaze steadily as he bends to pull up his sweatpants. "That if you want to just lay on the couch and cuddle, if you want to crawl into bed and forget about life beyond the room for a while, I'm here." He hooks a finger under her chin. "If you want to be fucked into oblivion," he chuckles, "I'm here for that, too. My goal, Benson, is to make sure you never want for anything, that you never need anyone but me, I need you to understand that I am the only man who will ever…" he narrows his eyes. "Ever...fill your needs, make you cum, love you...ever...again."

"Fin told you that Falsone askes me to dinner," she guesses, and she sees the way his face morphs into a near-snarl as the words leave her lips. "Did he also tell you I turned him down? I told him that if he asked me out again, my boyfriend, the Marine, would tear him to pieces." She slips her feet into her shoes and then wraps her arms around his neck. She kisses him slowly, deeply, and then she says, "You are the only man I need, the only one I have needed...and wanted...for so fucking long. And I'm sure you know by now, I'm the only woman who does all of that shit for you, for the rest of your fucking life, Stabler."

He kisses her hard and pulls back with a wet pop. "We're on the same page," he says, and he gives her ass a hard slap. He knows she felt it through her pants, and he says, "Kids are with Kathy, tonight, remember?"

"Yeah," she nods as she walks out of the bedroom, "What are you planning?" she asks as she pulls her keys out of her pocket.

He walks her to the door, opens it, and just before she walks out into the hall to head back to work without him for the last time, he points a finger and says, "No safe words."

She gulps, sees the look in his eyes, and she kisses him softly as she whispers, "Don't need them." She backs away a bit, says, "I love you," and walks on shaking legs down the hall, wondering what the hell he has up his sleeve, and hoping to God she closes her current case in time to find out.

**A/N: Next: A wrench in the plan, and Falsone? Seems to want to be torn to pieces. Review? Meep?**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: A .44 full of bullets. Face full of pale. Eyes full of empty. A stare full of nails. (Rage Against the Machine) **_**For the sake of this story, the timelines of some cases and details have been altered. **_

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

"Stop mumbling under your breath," Olivia cracks, handing Elliot a cup of coffee as she leans her own mug against her lips. She watches him sip while she does the same, and when she swallows she says, "Cragen called you in on this because we needed the extra hands, don't give him a reason to send you back home."

He nods and sighs, sips his coffee again, and eyes the white pinboard in front of him. "Don't expect me to play nice." He crosses one arm over his chest and sips his coffee again, only to keep from growling as he glares across the room at the younger detective who has yet to wander back to his own unit: Falsone. "Why's he still fucking here?"

"Because when our three rapes became three homicides," she starts, and she nudges him with her elbow. "We sort of had to tell, ya know...Homicide." She shakes her head and whispers, "Calm down, he's…"

"Staring at you like he wants to eat you," Elliot hisses, and he turns to her and lowers his voice. "I'm the only one that gets to fucking eat you."

"I'm the only one you'd better fucking be eating," she snarks back, and she raises a challenging eyebrow at him. "We both know it's the damn truth, so stop seething like an active volcano and focus." She brings her coffee mug to her lips and then slaps her hand against his chest. "If we go now, we can get out of here without even having to talk to him. We got a live vic at Saint Mark's, maybe she can…"

"Olivia," Paul Falsone saunters over, swagger in his step and a heavy grin on his face. He ignores Elliot, folds his arms, widens his stance, and licks his lips. "I got tickets to the Met tonight, Beliini's _La Sonnambula, _I figured we could…"

"You like Opera?" Elliot scoffs, his fingers are curling themselves into fists and his blood pressure is soaring like an angry Bald Eagle. "Nice try, she already saw it," he says snidely, and he pats himself on the back for spending the extra money for two full season subscriptions.

Falsone finally turns, gives him a narrow eyed sneer, and says, "Maybe she wants to see it again." He jerks his neck back and forth and smiles at Olivia. "So how about it?"

Olivia offers him a soft, apologetic smile, as she pulls her coat on over her plum-colored shirt. "I told you, I'm seeing someone. But thank you for the offer."

"What's this guy got that I don't?" Falsone asks with a cockeyed smirk. "I know it can't be much."

Olivia chuckles, fishes the keys to the sedan out of her pocket, and leans into him. She looks into his eyes and blinks once, and then she says, "Me."

Elliot laughs silently, gives Falsone a placating pat on the shoulder, and says, "Stop asking, you're getting on her nerves." He doesn't wait for Falsone's response, he grabs his long, beige trench coat and folds it over his arm. He whistles as he follows Olivia out into the hall and he furtively runs his right hand down her back, resting it on the curve of her ass as he leads her toward the stairs.

"Hands," she snips, and when his answer is to move his hand lower and palm her ass as they walk down the cement steps, she rolls her eyes. "Jesus, you don't have to do this with me, Elliot. I'm not going anywhere, you don't need to…"

"Mine," is all he says, squeezing the round of her ass in his hand. He slaps it hard and then uses his own body to push the alley door open. "I had plans for you, tonight, and if we don't get to the bottom of this…"

"Kids are with Kathy, right?" she says and she presses the button on the fob to unlock their beat up maroon car. "So what's the rush? Whether we get home at ten tonight or three in the morning, place is gonna be empty, so whatever you planned…"

"You said…" he pauses and he looks over the hood of the car at her. "You said _we_, when _we_ get _home_." He catches the keys as she tosses them to him, and he smiles brightly, shaking his head. "You don't know...what that fucking means to me."

She grins back at him as she opens her door, the way he's looking at her makes her stomach flip, and she sinks into the car's seat as her eyes slide shut. One hand drapes over her stomach, the other latches her seatbelt into place. She drops her head back against the seat and the scene replies in her mind.

_He'd barrelled into the squadroom, scowling and yelling, directing a moderate amount of rage at Cragen. "You tell me to keep my ass home for three days, then you call begging me to come in! Make up your fucking mind, Captain, I'm either a liability or a necessity!" _

"_Both," Cragen had barked back, "Over there, Benson will catch you up, the bastard hit too close to home, this time." _

She inhales sharply as she hears the car start, he asks her a question that doesn't register and she hums in a way she hopes is the right answer. She can't get the fiery look in his eyes out of her mind, she can't forget the way his chest rose and fell with heavy breath, his fury has always turned her on, but now it sends chills and heat to parts of her body that he'd only just awakened and she doesn't know how to suppress it anymore.

"_God damn it, I was in the middle of…" he had let out a grunt, rolled his eyes, and finished tying the knot in his tie as he'd stalked over to Olivia. "What's so Goddamned important I had to put on a fucking suit?"_

_She'd had to fight the urge to moan at the way his neck throbbed under his collar. "County Clerk and one of the interns in the DA's office," she'd whispered to him as she'd led him to the back table. She'd fixed two cups of coffee, nearly identical, handed him one and held the other in both of her hands. "Clerk was…" she'd looked down at the spotty floor. "DOA. The intern is in the way to the hospital, Munch is still down at the courthouse." _

"_This happened at the courthouse?" he'd asked, his hot breath falling against her face, seducing her. _

_She'd stared at his lips for a moment too long, had to force her eyes upward. She'd swallowed her coffee like a mouthful of nails. "Yeah, this guy's got balls." She'd scoffed. "Big ones." She'd lowered her voice. "I left the apartment, what, five minutes before Cragen called you in? What the hell could you have been doing that's got you so…" _

"_Fucking look down," he'd spat, and he'd watched her head move, watched her eyes widen and flicker with something he'd recognized as both lust and the need to service him. He'd tugged on his tie once and sipped his coffee as he'd watched her lick her lips. He'd chuckled to himself as he'd handed her his coffee mug. "Refill? Please?" _

_She'd taken the cup from him with a cold stare, all of the heat in the room had rushed between her legs. She'd simply nodded and watched him move back toward his desk while she fixed two more cups of coffee, making hers a lot stronger and darker than it had been._

"Liv," his voice calls, and when she snaps her head up and her eyes pop open, he tilts his head. "We're here, you sure you're okay?"

"Fine," she says flatly. She gets out of the car before he can say anything else, and she digs her billfold out of her pocket, flapping it open and holding it up to the guard at the doors. She nods at the man, then walks through the sliding glass and up to the front desk. "Detective Benson," she says, and she points a finger to Elliot. "Detective Stabler," she says. She looks closely at the nurse's name tag and smiles. "Jessica, is it? We need to know the status of a rape victim, Bettina Amador."

"Amador," the nurse at the station types rapidly into a computer. "She's been moved to recovery, third floor, room three-fifteen."

Olivia slaps the top of the counter and moves fast, knowing Elliot is right next to her, and she takes a sharp left and runs up the stairs.

Elliot stays half a step behind her, enjoying the view, plotting the many ways he can lavish that perfect ass with the attention it deserves, and he's about to voice one of his ideas when he hears her phone ring. He waits, and when his doesn't immediately follow suit, he grabs her elbow. "Answer it," he demands.

She squints at him as she pulls her phone out of her pocket, doesn't look at it before sliding the icon to answer the call, brings the device to her ear and says, "Benson."

"It's him, isn't it?" he breathes, one palm is flat against the door and the other is on her hip, toying with the chain link of her handcuffs. When she rolls her eyes and nods once, he huffs, "That sleazy son of a bitch," and he digs his fingertips into the skin of her hip.

She lets her lips curl slightly at his possessiveness, briefly she wonders if he'd been so brazenly overprotective and jealous with Kathy. The thought makes her nauseous, and she stops Falsone from saying anything else. "Look, it's not gonna happen, Paul. I'm…" she only pauses for a beat. "I'm getting married." She hears him say something and she smiles, looks down at the tiles under her feet, and the lie hurts more than she'd thought it would. "Thank you. You, too." She hangs up and knocks into the swinging door with her shoulder, taking them into the third floor corridor. "Three-fifteen," she says softly, and her eyes focus on the numbers on the wall as they walk.

"You told him...you said you were getting married," he almost whispers, and he feels his left ring finger tingle and twitch, as if claiming it's ready for round two. "Does that mean you would…"

"It got him to back off, didn't it?" she heaves. She knows it was impulsive, she gets that it's too complicated to even suggest it. "Here," she says, pointing to a closed door. She knocks three times. "Bettina? It's Detectives Benson and Stabler, we just want to…"

The woman calls to them, tells them to come in, and as Olivia turns the handle and pushes the door open, Elliot takes the reins. "Bettina, we have a couple of questions, are you up for this?"

Bettina Amador blinks her bruised eyes and nods, hissing in pain as she tries to sit up. She refuses Olivia's help and then says, "I was in a conference room, Susan and I were stamping transcripts from the week's cases, we both heard the door lock."

"So he was already in the room," Elliot gathers, and he whips out a notebook and pen, clicks it, and starts taking notes. He notices that the woman is looking directly at him, completely avoiding Olivia, and it's the first time he's seen this happen. Usually, it's the other way around. "He has to be someone you know, did you get a good look at him?"

Amador nods and folds her bruised, cut hands over her stomach. "I'm sure he thought I was dead, I made sure... I was perfectly still, I don't think I was even breathing. Wait, he doesn't know I'm alive, does he? Does he know I'm talking to you?"

"Calm down, no," Elliot says, and he slowly steps forward. "He doesn't know anything, that's why we need you to tell us everything you can, so we find him before he can hurt anyone else." He offers a smile, shoots Olivia a concerned look, and then says. "So can you tell us what he looked like? If you...if you know him?"

Amador takes a breath, it obviously hurts, and again she swipes away Olivia's attempts at assisting her. "I'm fine, I just…" she finally looks at Olivia. "Please, don't touch me," she almost whispers.

Olivia winces, completely understanding, and she simply nods. "What can you tell us? Anything at all will help…"

"He was tall, um…" Amador starts. "Thick hands, I didn't see his face he...he was behind me the whole time, but he...I remember his cologne and there's only one person in the building that wears that...musky, herbal…" she cringes and grips the sheets in her hands. "I think it was Hector." She swallows and looks up at Elliot. "Hector Salazar."

"Former cop," Elliot spits, and he closes his notebook. "Get some rest, Miss Amador, we will…" he eyes Olivia, "Come back if we need anything else, but this…" he drops his eyes to the scared woman again. "You've been very...very brave, incredibly helpful." He catches Olivia's eyes and jerks his head, then leads her out of the room.

"Want me to call it in? Get a twenty on this guy?" she asks him, and she can tell by the way he's walking that he's trying to keep his legendary temper in check. "El?"

"A cop," he spits, and he punches the swinging doors, making them whip open. "A fucking cop! I'm the one everyone is constantly accusing of being a fucking disgrace to the badge but this hump is out there raping and killing and…"

"You're not," she says, and she places both of her hands on his chest, stopping his tirade. "You're not a disgrace to anybody or anything, Elliot. Especially the badge." Her right hand slips down his chest, she hears his breath hitch, feels his muscles twitch, and she wraps her long fingers around his gold shield. "You wear this thing so fucking proudly, you are the living breathing embodiment of everything this fucking thing stands for, and the only disgrace I can see, here, is that you aren't higher up on the Goddamned food chain than you…"

He kisses her hard, deep, but it's short and rough. When he pushes her away he takes a breath. "Let's go get this son of a bitch," he barks, and he slaps her ass to coax her down the stairs. His mind races. His final divorce hearing is in less than forty-eight hours, he knows shit is about to hit the fan, and he knows that he isn't the only one it's all going to rain down on. He's still pissed off at Cragen for not only interrupting a moment of tension relief he'd so desperately needed but for being a thorn in his side for the last two hours. On top of it all, he's harder than a lead pipe, Olivia had been the one to push him down and put him in his place twice today and his cock yearns to give her more control.

There's so much he wants to do to her, for her, with her, and every minute spent at work is one less moment he gets to live out his desires. As they head back out through the lobby, he's hit with another realization.

Now, he's furious at Salazar, someone he'd once considered a friend. Another cop turned criminal without any remorse at all, and he has to be the one to dole out the punishment, and it all reminds him of his father, Southerland, Cragen. His blood boils and he knows he's turning red. Liv," he says, and when she looks over her shoulder at him, he clenches his jaw. "When we find Salazar," he starts, and he rolls his neck and hears the way it cracks. "Keep him the fuck away from me."

**A/N: Next: Salazar pays for his crimes, Kathy pays a visit, Falsone tries again, for the last time? And maybe they do need safe words...then again, maybe not. Review? Meep?**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: A .44 full of bullets. Face full of pale. Eyes full of empty. A stare full of nails. (Rage Against the Machine)**

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

"What the hell did she say to you?" Olivia asks, running through the crib after him as he marches through it and into the gym. "Stop it! Talk to me!"

"I'm tired of fucking talking!" he yells, and he gives the hanging punching bag a hard hit. He does it again before heading toward the water cooler. "And this fucking isn't about Kathy!"

"Then what is it about because…" she gasps when she sees him turn and start wailing on the sparring machine, punching so hard that every error message it has signals at once. "Elliot!" she yells, but he's too far gone.

He nearly breaks the pads on the machine, then turns and punches the wall beside it. He hears the bones in his hand crack but it doesn't phase him at all. "This isn't about Kathy," he says again as he tries to breathe. He feels her hands on his back and shakes his head. "This is...fucking about…" he grunts and turns from her again, kicking at the rack of mats to his left until they all roll off the shelves and onto the floor. "My entire fucking life being burned to the damned ground in one fucking shot!" He grunts as he spins once more and hits the punching bag over and over. The words flying from his mouth are confessions wrapped in guilt and spite, laced with regret, but none of it makes any sense.

She pulls him off the bag and wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him closer until he's still, until he's silent, until he's calm. "Breathe," she whispers, and she feels him shaking in her arms. "El, baby, breathe."

"You," he whispers, his breath shaking as he wraps his trembling arms around her. "You're the only thing keeping me from losing it," he tells her softly, and he buries his head in her neck.

She holds him, closes her eyes, rubs his back. "Talk to me," she tries again, and she hopes this time it'll take. "What the hell happened down there?"

With a grunt, he pushes out of her hold and storms back into the crib. He knows she's hot on his heels, so he gives up and falls into the mattress by the far wall and drops his head into his hands, ignoring the blood from one of them that's dripping down his arm.

"Damn it, Elliot," she hisses as she moves, reaching up into a cabinet on the wall for the first aid kit. She lays it on the nearest surface, shaking her head, and fishes around in it for gauze and ointment. "You were fine in the box with Salazar, in fact…" she turns to him and grabs his left hand in her right, "That was the smoothest interrogation we've had in a long time." She picks up a cotton ball in her right hand, seals it over an open bottle of peroxide, spins it to soak the cotton, then swipes it up the path of blood on his arm and dabs it at his bleeding knuckles.

He winces and seethes, but doesn't pull away from her. "I was fine, I was fucking fine...until...fucking…" he clenches his jaw, both in anger and pain, "Talking to Salazar...having to say all the right things to put the pressure on him...made me feel like the bastards who went after my father, and then...shit...that fucker Falsone. He had his greasy hands all over you, and you just fucking stood there."

She rolls her eyes as she squeezes the antibiotic gel on his cuts and says, "Really? Him again? You know he's not gonna get anything from me, you know I…"

"He isn't exactly taking no for an answer," he interrupts, and he shakes his head. "And there's...nothing really keeping you from…" his eyes widen. "Ow! What the fuck?"

She pulls her nail out of his open wound, nodding once. "That was for even thinking what you were just gonna say, because it's bullshit. There's a lot keeping me from hopping into bed with the next guy who comes along, Stabler, and fuck you for thinking that just because I don't have any legal claim to…"

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and a short-lived silence falls on them as she wraps the gauze around his knuckles.

"I know Hurricane Stabler didn't strike because some pushy bastard hit on me," she says as he tends his wounds. "What's this really about?" She sighs and looks at him, scraping her teeth over her lip, then drops away when it becomes clear he isn't talking.

The tension is thick between them, and he remembers the look on her face when Kathy walked into the squadroom. The dark heat in her eyes as she stared at them, silently watching. Remembering his ex-wife's words and veiled threats makes his temperature rise again, and he tries to crack his knuckles but she's wrapping them too tightly. The vile things Kathy had said about Olivia, about his job, the desperate question she had asked just before leaving with the keys to their storage unit, it all replays in his mind like a bad movie. He chokes back the urge to punch something else, when suddenly he's hit with a thought that makes him grin. "You were getting even, weren't you?"

"Even for what?" she huffs, and she ties the ends of the gauze into a knot, but keeps his hand in hers.

"You saw me with Kathy," he shrugs, "So you purposely had a tete-a-tete with Falsone? Like it's some kind of…"

She practically throws his hand back at him. "Seeing as how she's your wife…" she holds up a hand and rolls her eyes. "Ex-wife, I know, okay? The mother of your children, I assume you'll need to talk to her every once in a while, so no, I was not purposely giving myself a fucking migraine to make you jealous." She takes a deep breath. "You're damn fucking lucky Cragen wasn't around to see this, and you're even luckier you punched a fucking brick wall this time, no evidence of your little temper tantrum other than a mess in the gym that he's never gonna see."

He smirks, and he rolls his head from side to side, hearing his neck crack as he chuckles. "Lucky, huh?" he says.

"Yeah," she spits. She packs up the kit and closes the box, then shoves it back into the cabinet. "He doesn't fucking trust you anymore, Elliot, and it's bad enough I had to be the one cracking the whip down there with those rookie bastards from the Two-Seven, now I have to come up here and deal with you flying off the handle over something so…"

"So what?" he interrupts, and he rises off of the stale mattress and grabs both of her hands. "Something so _what_, Olivia? Stupid? Crazy?"

She swallows hard and she wriggles her fingers enough to cup his face as he holds her hands. "Terrifying," she whispers. She lest out a soft breath. "I told you, when you get worked up like this…" she shrugs, "I don't know how to make it stop."

He wraps one of his thick palms around both of her wrists and twists her around fast. He pushes her forward, into the cement wall of the bunkroom, and he presses into her. He leans closer, runs his tongue along the conch of her ear, and he whispers, "Yes, you do."

She moans when she feels him tugging at the waistband of her pants and yanking on her duty belt. "What are you…"

"Shh," he hushes her, works her pants off of her hips, and when they fall around her ankles, he grabs a fistful of her hair and turns her around. "I told you," he growls as he bends her over the closest bunk, slips his uninjured hand between her parted thighs, swipes up and through her wet folds. "You're not allowed to fucking flirt with him." He pulls at his own belt, rips it out of the loops, shakes down his blue pants, wraps his bandaged hand around his cock, and strokes.

He hears her moan, feels her body move as he pulls harder on her hair, and he leans over her. "You locked the door," he hisses into her ear. He slides his cock between her legs, feels the way she coats him in her slickness, and he moans as he asks, "You knew this was gonna happen?"

She gives him a wicked smirk. "What do you think?" She throws her head back as he thrusts forward, sheathing himself so deeply, pulling her hair hard.

He works one hand under her shirt and presses her up, until her back is against his chest. "You think he'd make you cum fast, hard? The way I'm going to right, the fuck, now?" he asks, and he yanks on her hair to make her moan and look at him. He starts a punishing pace, his body slamming into hers, and the hand wound in her hair falls just a bit and wraps around her mouth. "Can't fucking scream." He feels her clench around him and he smirks again. He grabs his belt off of the top bunk, and as he thrusts hard he wraps the leather around her wrists. "Turn around," he demands, and she moans into his palm as she tries to swivel in his grasp.

He chuckles as he flattens her out and he hooks the leather strap through one of the bars on the shaky bed. He pulls it tight and buckles it, then peers down at her. "I know," he grumbles, and he wraps both of his hands around her hips, pushes up, and hits into her harder. "We're breaking your silly, little rule." He watches her eyes roll back, he knows he's hitting all the right spots. He bends forward, brings her legs up as he moves, and when he feels her hook her ankles around his back, he chuckles. "We only have one rule, now, you fucking know that."

She nods, kissing him back hungrily when he slants his mouth over hers. She moans into his mouth when he slaps her ass hard. He does it again and her back arches. "Elliot," she cries, muffled by his kiss. She knows why he's doing this, she knows why he needs this right now, and she knows what he wants from her at this moment.

He moves his lips across her face, down her chin, along her jawline, and he sinks his teeth into the patch of skin at the spot where her perfect neck meets her smooth shoulder. He feels her clamp around him hard, so tightly, and he knows she's cumming. "Fuck, yeah, baby," he pants, "God, I fucking love you." He thrusts through her pulsing convulsions and he sinks his teeth into her again as his hands find homes, one around her body to pull her closer to him, the other pressing over her mouth to keep her from screaming. "Again," he says firmly, and he's driving into her with enough force to shake the bed. "Fucking...cum...for me," he growls, and he feels his body tighten. He knows he's going to blow.

She twists and tugs at the belt wrapped around her wrists, her body arching, and she knows he's leaving marks with his teeth, with his strong hands, with his powerful thrusts. He doesn't need to demand it, but she knows why he does, and she rolls her hips up to meet his downward hits and closes her eyes as she feels the intensity roll through her one more time.

He keeps moving, thrusting, feeling her throb around him, and he cums with a guttural cry of her name as his entire body seizes. He fires into her, over and over, and he can't fight it back anymore. He growls her name as he moves again, thrusting hard and fast to get where he needs to be, until he feels the painful burn that he loves so fucking much. He reaches up and unstraps her wrists, hears the belt fall to the floor, and he rolls them over and pulls her down as he finally lets it all go.

Breathless, she pants as her hands stroke the sides of his face, wiping away hot tears and beads of sweat. "Baby," she whispers, "What's going on?"

Sniffling, he shakes his head and he shifts their bodies into a more comfortable spot. He chuckles at the way their shirts stick together, hot and wet, as their naked lower halves still pulse and thrust into each other of their own volition. He combs his fingers through her hair and he says, "I never meant fucking shit to him."

"Your father?" she asks, but she already knows. She curls around him, her body clenches again as she moves because he's still buried in her. She rests her head on his shoulder as her left hand slips up his shirt and she traces abstract patterns onto his chest.

He moans softly, turns and kisses her forehead, and then he speaks. "I was only his priority when he needed someone to blame, something to yell at." He licks his lips. "I tried so damn hard, so many times, he never approved of anything I did, ever. So why do I fucking care so much? The man got what he deserved, he was a fucking crooked bastard just like his friends, and I…" he shrugs and blinks. "Why am I still trying to protect the son of a bitch?"

She kisses his chin. "Because he's your father," she whispers. "You're nothing like him, your family is your priority, your entire family, and that includes him." She runs her right hand over his head, through his short hair. "He's not around to defend himself, you feel like it falls on you, but you can't change what happened to him, you can't change the legacy he left behind, but what you can do is make sure your legacy outshines and outlasts his."

He presses his head against hers. "It's all I could think about, when we went after Salazar's credibility and brought up his duty record. I felt like I was interrogating my dad. That's why I didn't get too rough in there, I sympathized with the son of a bitch, and I promised myself once that happened…"

"You sympathized with him for a valid reason," she cuts him off as she scratches at his scalp. "You don't condone what he did to those girls, that's the promise you made. And you will never sympathize with these bastards for that, Elliot. Ever."

He blinks at her again. "Liv, you don't think…" he stops, he looks at her. He sees the purple mark on her neck, his handprints on her hips and her ass, the bruising on her inner thighs. "Oh, my God," he intones sadly. "What the hell kind of monster am I?"

She raises her eyebrows and she shakes her head firmly at him. "No, I am not letting you confuse yourself, here. What we do in bed...is entirely different. Consensual, safe, eroticism and violence are two separate animals, and you are never violent. Not with me. Not with the kids." She smirks at him. "Now, ask that poor boxing machine in there, he'll say something slightly different." She watches him smile, hears him laugh, and she says, "El, we have a few...preferences that some people consider a little kinky, but it's not deviant, and it is _not_ painful. Not in a way that anyone would arrest you for, anyway." She props herself up on her elbow and says, "You think I would still be here if you hurt me?" Her eyes narrow and she leans into him. "You think you'd still be walking upright if you did?"

He chuckles as he shakes his head, and he loves the way their noses rub together as he does. "You, uh, you're right. I know you're right." He kisses her softly, slowly, and then moves to find their pants and equipment. "We should, uh, get back down there before someone comes looking…"

"What did she say to you?" she asks, her words breaking into Elliot's.

He sighs and his head falls forward. He tosses her pants over his shoulder to her as he slips into his own, and he pulls them up as he stands. He beckons her to him, and he pulls her off the bed. As he helps her into her slacks, he sighs again. "After she reamed into me for being the worst husband in the world, she told me she was keeping the kids for the rest of the weekend because…" He pauses as he tucks her shirt in for her. The judge canceled the hearing," he tells her, and when she's zipped up he wraps his arms around her waist. "Said there was no need for it, uh, since...since he'd already made his decision."

She stills in his arms, looks into his eyes, raises both brows. "And?"

"And," he licks his lips and then bites at them, "Whatever you said in that statement fucking pissed Kathy off to no end." He kisses her, it's the softest, most delicate kiss he's ever laid upon her. "But it was enough to prove to the judge that the kids belong with me, and he doubled down on that when he found out they'd get to stay in their house…" he furrows his brow. "Which is why you fucking bought the place, isn't it?"

She drags her hands through her hair and bends to pick up his belt. She shoves it through the loops of his pants as she says, "I know child custody cases, and I know the odds would be in your favor if you had a way to assure that their lives wouldn't be disrupted." She looks up into his as she blindly buckles his belt for him. "So, yeah. It is."

His eyes narrow again, his lips curl, and he kisses her again. He lets her go and moves to the door, unlocks it, and he rests his hand on the knob as he says, "I don't really have anything to worry about with you, do I?"

"Only when you're the one strapped to the fucking bed," she snaps her badge onto her belt and winks at him.

He pulls the door open and holds it for her, and as they walk down the stairs, they both roll their eyes. "Falsone," Elliot spits as he steps up to the younger detective, "We got the guy, our ADA is scheduling his arraignment, you don't need to stick around for…"

"I asked around," Falsone says, and he is staring at Olivia. He moves, grinning smugly, and he brings a hand to her cheek. "No one here knows anything about this fiance of yours. You don't have to play hard-to-get, girl. I'm already set on you." His hand moves, drops to her shoulder, her waist, and it's about to move toward her ass.

"Don't fucking touch her," Elliot snarls as he grabs Falsone's other arm and bends it back behind him. "She told you, more than once, and in case you didn't realize what unit you're in, take a look around, pal. You just fucked up, big time."

"Let him go," Olivia offers softly, trying to keep him calm.

Elliot growls as he pulls harder on Falsone's arm. He lowers his voice, speaks through gritted teeth, "You go anywhere near her again, and I will snap you in half, you hear me?"

"Yeah," Falsone whimpers, and he stumbles as Elliot pushes him away and lets him go. He lets out a hard breath as he brushes himself off, and then he looks at Olivia. "If you change your mind…"

"She won't," Elliot shouts, and he jerks his head toward the door, telling Falsone to leave.

Cragen moves toward them, two cups of hot coffee in his hands. He gives one to Elliot and one to Olivia. "Do I wanna know what that was about?"

Elliot swallows his mouthful and then says, "Guy got handsy with Liv. She already told him to back off, so it was…"

"Okay," Cragen says, and then he hits Elliot on the shoulder. "Then that one is going in your file as a commendation." The three share a laugh and then he says, "You handled Salazar impeccably, you two. That's why I left. I had to tell the chief, uh, you're officially off administrative watch. I gave him my professional recommendation." He looks into Elliot's eyes. "Don't make me out to be wrong."

"No, Cap," Elliot nods once. "Thank you."

Cragen gives him a half-smile. "I didn't do it for you," he shoots Olivia a short glance and turns to head back into his office.

"You gonna tell me what the hell he meant by that?" Elliot asks in a harsh whisper, but the grin on his face tells her he isn't upset.

She sips her coffee and gives him an innocent look. "Depends," she says, and then she checks her watch. "I'll tell you in an hour." Her eyes meet his. "On the swing."

He watches her walk toward her desk, brows knit together in confusion. "On the…" his eyes shoot open wide. Suddenly, he's no longer pissed at Kathy for keeping the kids for the weekend. In fact, he's tempted to call and thank her.

**A/N: Next: A night at the apartment? A new case takes a personal turn, which tests Elliot's control. It may be the last of this story. Review? Meep?**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Survive, one motive, no hope,'Cause every sidewalk I walk is like a tightrope** **(Rage Against the Machine)**

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

He makes sure that she's strapped in, his eyes flit up to the rivets and he pulls on the straps hard to make sure the swing is secure and he won't be tearing down the ceiling when he gets rough. And he _will be_ getting rough. His head turns and his eyes instantly darken and narrow. "Damn, baby."

The way she's presented to him makes his cock twitch. Her legs are spread wide, thighs and feet bound in nylon and leather. She's leaning back, her entire body in perfect view. He sees how hard her nipples are, he can't wait to wrap his lips around them. The red skin of her chest and neck tells him that she's more than ready for what's coming.

He watches her slip her arms around the side straps, her hands clutch the nylon. When he moves, he licks his lips, and he runs his palms over her thighs. "You okay?" he asks, his fingers crawling toward her glistening center.

It's the third time he's asked her the question, the third time she's giving him the same answer. "Perfect," she says, one brow arched, and she sways in the swing to prove how comfortable she is, how at ease she feels. She whimpers a bit when her still-stinging skin rubs against the fabric, evidence of the intense foreplay that's proven they really _fucking_ don't need safewords. "Absolutely perfect."

One of his hands bends, his knuckles graze her slit feather lightly, and the other arm reaches up for the side strap of the swing. He clutches it, pulls it, bringing her body closer to his, and he wags his eyebrows at her as he lets the motion of the swing propel her body forward, onto his.

The mutual moan fills the small space, the close walls make their relieved cries echo and reverberate. It's a different angle; she feels so much tighter this way and he hits parts of her he's never reached before, which makes this experience a first for many reasons. He pulls harder on the straps of the swing, bends his elbows which lowers the straps and lifts her body higher, and he grinds his heels into the carpet to brace himself. "Stop me," he whispers to her, "If you have to."

She reaches for him, scratches her nails down his chest hard, smirking at the way the skin reddens and rises in her path. "I won't have to," she whispers, looking up at him.

He presses his lips together and starts to rock the swing, letting it move while he stays stationary, firm, stonelike. His head falls back and he lets out a long grunt. The nylon twists, shifting her body slightly with every swing. She slides off of his dick all the way each time, he's pushed all the way in with each pass. "Shit," he huffs, lowering his chin to look at her.

"Oh, God," she sighs, and it falls from her lips twice more as she rocks back onto him. When he starts to move his arms faster, her eyes roll. "Fuck," she hisses, feeling the tip of his cock press against a newly discovered spot inside of her. Her eyes widen as suddenly her whole body tilts at a new angle. She realizes he's pulling at the back straps from much higher, she's thrust downward onward to him as she swings. "Jesus, Elliot," her voice cracks, her hands tighten around her arm holds, her eyes shut.

"So fucking good," he grumbles, each word punctuated by his skin hitting against hers. He won't last long like this, he needs to make sure she cums before him. He lowers his left arm, it angles the leather wraps, and the new position her body is in makes him crazy. His face contorts, his brow furrows and his lips form a small, tight O as he's sucked into tightness he hasn't felt before, and he moans her name.

She's forced into silence by the way her body contracts and releases, her face construed into an expression of twisted pleasure, her eyes rolling back so far her lashes flutter. She can't obey his rules tonight, she can't move her lips to tell him she's cumming, but she knows he can tell. There's no way to deny it.

As he moves the swing, he feels her rush of wetness splashing against his skin, it makes him moan again and he chuckles darkly. "Fuck, yes, baby," he grits out. It goads him, spurs him to yank harder on the straps, move the swing faster, get as much from her as possible. "Fucking love you," he growls. "Fucking love feeling you cum for me."

Her eyes are still screwed shut, her body goes rigid and her muscles tighten as her stomach flexes and her torso stretches, every part of her is on fire, trembling with tension. Her hands grab for him as her eyes pop open, but they're bound too tightly in the straps to reach him.

He pulls hard on the swing, sheathing himself inside of her as she convulses. He curls over her and kisses her madly, teeth biting her lips, tongue invading her mouth. He fires like a cannon, grunting into her mouth. He feels her hands pull at the thick muscles of his arms, her touch feels like fire and ice. He growls as he uses all of his energy to pull out and thrust into her one last time, giving him the burn he craves and the last stroke she needs to cum again.

They're wrapped together now, tangled in each other and the leather and nylon. Their slick skin sticks together, but neither minds at all, it's home. They spend glorious silence kissing slowly and catching their breath, and then he speaks on a hard laugh as he rubs his forehead. "Impulse buy of the fucking century," he quips, and he wraps one strong arm around her back as he starts to unhook her straps.

She moans as she flops limply over him, relying on his body for support. "Christ, El," she whispers, then she swipes her tongue over the curve of his right pec, feels it jerk as she licks away beads of sweat.

He presses her head further into his chest as he lifts her out of the swing, and he kisses her softly as he carries her out of the small space and over to the bed. He lays her down, trailing his fingertips lightly along the edges of her, slowly and deeply kissing her, and he whispers the words she still isn't used to hearing, the words he knows usually send her running for her life.

Her hands climb up his back and wrap around his neck, and she says them back with as much conviction as she has in the courtroom. "You'd better pray," she starts, there's a lilt to her voice, "That no one ever sees the marks you leave on me." She drags her nails down his nape, hears him moan again, "Or the ones I leave on you."

"Especially these," he says gruffly, his hands slip over her ass, knowing that under his light touch live the fresh red lines of a switch, fading pink splotches in the shapes of his palms, and he cradles her against him as his voice rumbles, "You fucking asked for it, don't play innocent."

"I did," she nods, her expression wonton and coy. "As soon as I can feel my legs, I'm asking for it again," she teases.

He kisses her as he hikes her body up higher on his. "Maybe I won't be in the mood to give it to you," he quips, but he winks. He kisses her again and starts moving to work them under the covers and sheets.

She settles against him once they still, she curls up and presses her lips to the bend of his neck, kissing him softly. "I told Cragen," she whispers against his skin.

He pulls back from her a bit and peers down at her through lidded eyes. "What?" he exhales, panic building. "You told him what?"

She cups his face and nuzzles against his cheek. "I told him if you…" she closes her eyes. "If they suspend you again or force you out...I'd transfer. I said I'd go to McNulty myself, if I had to, and tell him exactly how many cases would have gone cold if it hadn't been for your, um, motivational interrogation skills." She smirks, but then sobers. "I'm serious. You go, I go. I decided that a long time ago, and…" she swallows. "It means exactly what you think it means. Not just the unit, El."

He drops his head to hers again, and he runs his thumb over her lips. "I'm not going anywhere, ever," he says quietly. "Did you...tell him about us?" He looks into her eyes and waits, and whatever she says will be a relief.

"I didn't have to," she shrugs slightly. "I think he figured it out from the way I was fucking yelling at him. I think...I think I cried," she chuckles. She gasps when his fingers graze her nipples, hardening them more, sending shockwaves through her system. "We should get some sleep," she whispers weakly, her back arching with his ministrations.

He moans softly as he wraps himself around her and struggles with the comforter to bundle them up in it. "How long do you think we have?"

"Not long," she assumes, and she wraps herself around him, letting sleep wash over her, finding safety in his arms.

She was right.

It's not long at all before both phones ring, shooting them awake and out of the bed like a pair of rockets. They grab at the noisy devices, tap in annoyance before switching phones and answering the right call. "Benson," she spits, and she looks around, trying to remember where she was when she took her clothes off. "Wait, what? That...that doesn't make any sense, are you sure?" She looks over at Elliot.

His face is red, his arms are pulsing. His free hand is balled so tightly into a fist that his nails break the skin of his palm, he feels the blood running down from the small slits. "I didn't...I didn't even touch the son of a bitch," he sneers into the phone, and he storms out of the bedroom, knowing she's following him. He snaps up his pants and shoves his legs into them as he says, "Don't turn this around on me, Cap! He was escalating, to begin with, and he…" he's cut off by something Cragen says. "Oh, great, I'm sure Tucker's gonna love this."

Olivia bends to pick up her pants, but she shrinks back when he snatches them out of her hands. He's hung up the phone and is now redressing her, as has become his custom, and he kisses the end of her nose when he straightens. "What did he say?"

"Tried to blame me," Elliot scoffs, and he helps her on with her bra, clasping it gently at her back. He shakes his head and adds, "He knows this isn't entirely my fault. At all." His arm jerks when she touches him, but he takes a breath and relaxes into her caress as they shove their shoes on. "I'm so...so fucking sorry. I swore that I would never be the reason you were in any kind of danger, and now…"

"You're not," she says quietly, running her fingers along the lines of his popping veins. "This doesn't have anything to do with you."

"Really?" he barks. He turns away from her sharply as he pulls on his black button-down, his large fingers working the buttons as fast as they can. He ignores the tie and jacket, grabs his coat off of the black leather bench, and he looks at her. "Tell me that again, because as far as Cragen's concerned, I pushed that prick over the edge when I pulled him away from you! Now, Cragen's trying to smooth things over with the chief and Tucker's on my ass when he should be fucking out there looking for that dipshit Falsone!"

"Hey!" she yells at him, slipping her arms into the sleeves of her blazer. "Calm down, you heard Cragen last night, he knew you were just protecting me!" She reaches for him and cringes when he rebukes her. Her fears rise, her doubts resurface, and she is suddenly thankful that she didn't break her lease on the apartment. She takes a stunted breath and walks out with him, making sure her cuffs and badge are clipped to her belt and her gun is where it belongs.

They aren't more than a foot away from the door when he turns, his fist hurling at the drywall, his already broken knuckles snapping yet again as he drives a crater into the side of the hallway. "I thought this was over!" he yells, and he turns, flops back against the plaster, and slides down the wall.

She watches him, her heart in her throat, as he crumples to his knees and drops his head into his hands. She flies to his side and he falls into her like a demolishing tower. She has no words, none. She holds his head as he turns and wraps himself around her.

"I thought I had it under control," he sniffles. "I fucking pissed off the wrong dirtbag, this time, another fucking dirty cop," he says, his eyes narrow, his voice low. "Now he's coming after you."

She swallows, scared, he's the strongest person she knows, the most resilient, and he's breaking in her arms. "He's not…"

"Yes, he is!" Elliot yells, and he pushes away from her and rises to his feet. He sniffles again, but his tears stop running as his eyes turn dark, his brows angle inward, and he rests his hand on his gun. "Unless I get to him first." He ignores her protesting voice as he stalks down the hall and kicks the door to the stairs open and runs down them. He hears her calling him, knows those are her footsteps behind him, but he's riding on fury and he doesn't want to take it out on one of the only people in his life that doesn't deserve it.

"Elliot, God damn it," she fumes, keeping right on his heels. She grabs his shoulder once they get to the final landing and he turns without warning, presses her into the wall beside him, fists her hair and pulls tight. His nostrils flare as his chest heaves into hers, he's huffing like an infuriated bull. "I will not…ever..." he seethes, his face so close to hers his lips move against her skin as he speaks, "Be the reason you're hurt." He smirks. "Unless you fucking ask for it."

She quirks a brow, it's the only move she makes.

He tugs harder on her hair, brushes her nose with his, and he says, "Fuck, if we didn't have to go, right now...I would make you ask for it." His lips trail down her neck until he sees her pulse flitting under her skin. "Beg for it," he whispers, then he licks the undulating spot of skin. "Tell me how much you fucking love it," he grinds out, and then his teeth sink into her shoulder, he suckles on her pulse hard, hearing her moan so carnally, and his dick starts to throb in time with her heartbeat on his tongue. "But no, we got called in because that asshole doesn't understand that you…" he bites down again, suckles some more, lets go with a pop. "Are mine." He smirks at the indention his teeth made in her skin, he kisses the sore spot softly as he covers it with her shirt.

She moans again as he pulls her hair tighter, her dry throat cracks out his name, she finds the resolve to push him away from her and she whimpers when she moves her arm and grazes the tender, bruising skin. "Rein it in," she whispers, her hands slipping up to the sides of his face. "I know you're pissed, it goes one of two ways, we don't have time to go back upstairs and God, I would love to fuck the rage out of you…" she scrapes her teeth over her lip and moans softly. "And I'm not letting you attack Falsone, even if he's the perp! All Munch said was the bastard told the girl to give me a message, that I was next. Maybe it's not him, it could be a thousand humps we couldn't hold. Some schmuck with a grudge. You jumped to Falsone because he's already under your skin, Cragen only thinks it's him because he needs to believe it's a guy we can get with our hands tied behind our backs."

He exhales, his shoulders roll back, and he knows she's right. "I don't care who it is," he blinks once, squeezes the bridge of his nose for a moment as he regulates his breathing. He looks at her, then, his eyes still dark. "The threat was made, it's my fucking job to keep you safe, and I am really not in the mood to…" his phone rings, he rolls his eyes and pulls it out of his pocket, hoping it's not Cragen again. He lifts the phone to his ear, his eyes widen for a split second, then narrow. "Where are you, you son of a bitch?"

Before Olivia can ask who it is, he's through the apartment's front door and half way down the steps, with his free hand resting on the back of his gun. She knows the mood he's in, she knows what he's capable of, and she knows what'll happen if she doesn't run after him. She realizes it as soon as she springs into action. "Oh, my God."

**A/N: Next: Someone lets the rage win. Is it Elliot? Olivia? Someone else? It may be the last of this story. Review? Meep?**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Survive, one motive, no hope, 'Cause every sidewalk I walk is like a tightrope** **(Rage Against the Machine)**

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

The black sky is illuminated by the brightly flashing red and blue lights, the way they spiral and swirl is almost beautiful. There's an eerie silence; so many people and vehicles should be causing a great deal of noise, but there's stillness and soundlessness in the chaos. Elliot looks around, the view from his seat on the back end of an ambulance allows him to take it all in, confused. He doesn't know how any of this happened, only that he's alive and so is Olivia, and it's all he seems to give a rat's ass about anyway. He closes his eyes and raises his hand to reach for her, flinching slightly as the pain hits.

"You happy now?" she asks him, her voice a low whisper. She has his ace-bandaged wrapped hand in both of hers, holding it gently, one finger lightly grazing the silver clips that bind it tightly. "You finally broke it."

"It was worth it," he growls, the words rattle in his throat. His teeth are clenched and he's staring across the empty lot at the body-bag being lifted into the back of the other ambulance. "I'd do it again," he grits.

She sighs and shakes her head. "I know you would," she tells him. "I can't believe Cragen…"

"I shouldn't have told you to stay behind me," he cuts her off, finally looking up at her. "If you were fucking right by my side where the hell you belong, he never would have been able to…" he growls again, balling his working hand into a fist. He relaxes when her fingers brush over his hand. "The second he grabbed you…" he shakes his head, his tongue sweeps over his lip and he grimaces at the heavy metallic taste of blood it kicks up. "It was fucking over for him."

With a narrow-eyed sigh, she moves her right hand to his face, brushes her knuckle gingerly over his split lip. "You were right, ya know," she sniffles slightly, "They searched his car, found a roll of duct tape and a bloody blanket. He did all of this to get to us. Well, to me. He knew we'd get called into it and, I guess he thought if we had another case together, he'd finally…"

"Then when he realized we were onto him, he threatened you, knew it would set me off," he interrupts, shaking his head. "That's why he fucking called me! He knew he was going down, and wanted to take me down with him," he closes his eyes and lets out a frustrated grunt. "I let him fucking do it," he breathes. His head falls against her shoulder and he asks in a harsh whisper, "What did I do to him?"

"You broke his nose, fractured his jaw, broke three of his ribs," she says, brushing his hair back. "Skull fracture, probably because you threw him into the wall twice when you pulled him off of me." Her lips press against his hot forehead, her eyelids slide down slowly.

He nuzzles into the crook of her neck, his lips graze her skin and he doesn't care they're leaving a slight streak of blood behind as they move. "I don't...I don't remember shooting him." He kisses her chin. "I just...I don't even remember drawing my gun, baby."

"You didn't," she comforts, her hands wrapping around his head. "After he elbowed you, he grabbed me again, pulled my gun off my hip and he…" she shakes as she speaks, her nails scrape through his hair. "He turned it on you...he was aiming for you, he had his other arm around my neck and I couldn't…" she chokes on her words, almost whimpers as he kisses her neck again. "I was trying to take him down but...Cragen shot him."

His head snaps up a bit too fast, it pulls at his sore shoulder and he winces as he searches for her eyes. "He what? He was there?" He moves the fingers of his broken hand, trying to wrap them around hers but failing. He gives up with a sigh and moves his other hand to grab her. "Are you sure it was Cragen? How did he know…why was he even here?"

"I don't know," she says, and she tries to smile at him, but his beaten face and cracking joints stop her from doing it. "But, God, I'm thankful he was."

He chuckles once, his uninjured hand moves to the side of her face. His fingers slip through her hair. "How's your head?" he asks, sitting up straighter. He blinks and wobbles, getting dizzy, and he sees it happen all over again: Falsone grabbing her from behind, pressing the blade of a knife to her neck. He feels Falsone kneeing him in the chest to get Olivia cornered, running his lips all over her before throwing her against the wall, knocking her head into the brick as his greasy hands moved down her body to her pants.

Elliot squeezes his eyes shut and tries to breathe deeper, then, remembering the moment he'd righted himself and flipped, grabbed the bastard, unleashed on him. He'd been ready and willing to kill him with his bare hands. He relives the hard-fisted blows, the way he'd heard the crunching of bones with every hit and it'd only made him laugh and hit the bastard harder, how he'd grabbed Falsone's collar, bashed his head against the wall until he went limp. It'd made him drop his guard and he'd moved for Olivia too soon, giving Falsone the window he'd needed to get in a hard punch, grab Olivia, pull and raise her gun. "I'm sorry," he breaks into a shaking breath. "Baby, I'm so sorry."

She shakes her head, her palms still cupping his face, "I'm fine. We're...we're both fine. You…" she stops, her lip trembles, and she drops her head against his. Her quick breath lands on his mouth and she whispers something he can barely hear.

"Now?" he questions, and he doesn't wait for her to answer, he looks around to make sure no one will notice if he moves. He shifts on the tailgate then hops down, dragging Olivia to the dark side of the truck. He cups her face for a moment, just looking at her, and then he leans in and kisses her hard, ignoring the sting of his cut lip. His hand wraps itself up in her dark curls and he pulls roughly but keeps kissing her, not allowing her head to move with her hair. He feels her tremble against him as his mouth catches her moan. He kicks one foot back onto the silver step to pull her closer and work one of his legs between hers. He doesn't give a fuck if anyone walks around and sees them, because he's fairly certain he's out of a job anyway, and this moment is too important to ignore.

She grinds down onto his thigh, whimpering against his lips, and she can taste the saltiness of their mixing tears with just a tinge of the tinny tang of his blood. She shoves her hands up under his shirt and grips, the need to feel his skin, his clenching muscles, his heart beating. She feels him slid his broken hand to the small of her back, the other hand creeping toward her neck, and he wraps his fingers around her throat as he turns them around. He keeps her pressed to the side of the ambulance as he kisses his way across her jaw, down her neck, around her chest, back up, until he crashes into her again. His tongue battles hers, his fingers slowly graze the skin of her neck as her hands claw and scratch and struggle for something to hold onto, something solid that proves they're alive.

He pulls back when he needs to breathe, and as he pants, he whispers, "I'm only in control...of everything...when I'm with you. If I lose control, you're there and you pull me back, so I need you to promise me...swear to me…" he inhales and brings his hand right up under her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes and hold his gaze. He kisses her softly, nuzzles her nose, and says, "I'll never have to live without you."

She whispers, "Never," and kisses him again, craving more of him, desperate for his strength, his power, is proof of life.

He licks her lips and then bites her chin gently, and then lowers his hand and drops his head. "You're sure I didn't kill him?" he asks in a harsh choke.

As her fingers caress his reddening skin where her nails chewed and scraped, she says, "It wasn't you." She sighs as she lets him pull her back around to the cabin of the ambulance. When he sits, he pulls her into him, the fingers on his working hand start running along her inner thigh, crawling higher. "God," she breathes, and her head falls against his as his knuckles trail discreetly over her clothed slit. "I've never seen Cragen so cold before, so…he didn't care if he..."

"Benson," the captain's voice breaks into what she's about to say. He notices the two detectives stiffen, split apart fast, but he also sees their hands drop from each other to clasp together on her lap. His lips pull themselves into a broken smile. "I talked to the EMTs. You need to get checked out, no arguments." He nods over to a nearby tech and snaps his fingers to get him moving. "And you…" he sighs as his eyes lock onto Elliot's. "What am I gonna do with you?"

"Fire me," Elliot huffs, nodding. "Right?" He keeps his unwrapped hand in Olivia's as the EMT moves to take her vitals. He shrugs at his captain. "Transfer me to the traffic unit? I know I promised I wouldn't let this happen again, but…"

"But he went after Olivia," Cragen says, interrupting him. "Why do you think I shot the son of a bitch?" He takes a few steps and leans up against the side of the ambulance, folds his arms, and exhales. "He tripped the phone tap when he called you. When I heard where he was, what he was gonna do...when he said he was gonna kill two birds with one stone, get rid of you and take Liv…" he chokes on the words. "I couldn't have been more than five minutes behind the two of you."

Elliot eyes Olivia, smirking at the way she swats the EMT's hands away from her and insists she's fine, and he looks back at Cragen with upturned brows. "You knew I was gonna…"

"I knew you'd be bound and determined," Cragen bites in as he nods, one of his hands rises to wipe his brow and then scrub down his face. "When I walked down that alley and saw you on the ground, the gun in his hand, Olivia in a chokehold...I aimed and fired without thinking, and I knew…" He rests a hand on Elliot's shoulder, squeezes lightly. "In that one moment, I understood how you feel, how the hatred and the apathy just overwhelm everything else...it happened so fast, I was so...angry and scared." He breathes out again. "Yeah, training told me to aim for his arm or his leg, but knowing he'd already raped and killed someone, and now he had the two of you...I wasn't gonna let him out of there alive."

"Cap," Elliot breathes, sitting up a bit straighter. He groans when his back cracks, but his eyes are set on Cragen's. He's never seen the man this emotional, vulnerable. "What are they gonna do to you? I can't let you…" he shakes his head and he feels Olivia's other hand fall to his neck. "Tell them I shot him, let me take the fall for this, I have less to lose! They already expect this from me, anyway, you can't tell me they don't! I can…"

"Elliot," Cragen holds out a hand and offers a fatherly smile. "I would never let you do that, ever, you know that. Luckily, in this case…" he breathes out and rounds his shoulders, his grey suit and black overcoat rumpling as he moves. "It doesn't matter. Tucker's already declared it a necessary shot, Falsone isn't around to complain about you beating the shit out of him and even if he was, it was a combination of self-defense and defense of a third party." He licks his lips and runs a hand through his thinning white hair. "It's a moot point, so anything you did, or didn't do, is between you and Olivia." His eyes shoot to hers, and they crinkle a bit when he looks at her. "You okay?"

"Bump on the head that doesn't even hurt, a couple of bruises and scratches," she clears her throat. She isn't going to tell her boss that they're not all from the fight with Falsone, or where exactly they did come from, so she just squeezes Elliot's neck and says, "I'm fine."

"Now, uh, before we all get locked in the box to give Tucker our statements, what am I not telling him?" Cragen tilts his head, takes a breath. "How serious is...whatever this is?" He waves a finger around between them before he stares down at Elliot. "I need you to tell me this isn't just you getting your rocks off because Kathy…"

"You know it's not," Elliot says, and there's no trace of anger in his voice at all. He surprises himself with his state of calm, but he knows it's because he's already unloaded every ounce of rage he'd been holding onto for weeks, letting it all explode onto Paul Falsone. "I'm in love with her," he speaks, and he laughs when his smile causes his lip to bleed again. "You knew that."

"I did," Cragen nods. "Like I said, I just needed you to tell me. Now, I can officially pull that off of the list of reasons you need to see the department shrink once a month." He stiffens his pointing finger and says, "It's the least I could give IAB in light of this, Stabler, they're not as reassured as I am by your, uh, personal promise to calm the fuck down and work on your anger management." He smirks and raises an eyebrow. "Or how, exactly, you're doing it."

Elliot and Olivia give each other a heated look, exchanging smirks of their own, and Elliot clears his throat before he turns back to Cragen. "Yeah, uh, I think I'm...I'm gonna be okay, but if you need me to talk to Huang, I…"

"Skoda," Cragen spits out quickly. "I need you to actually work through your shit, not spend forty-five minutes shooting the shit and planing poker nights." He pulls on the belt of his coat and scratches behind his ear. "Your actions tonight, though extreme, were justified. I'm not writing you up for it, but the next time you snap a limb in the…"

"No promises," Elliot intrudes honestly. "But I can promise it'll only happen if…" he bites his lip and seethes, forgetting his sore split. "If I'm ever as fucking unhappy as I was...before, and I don't…" he looks over his shoulder. "I don't think that's ever gonna happen."

Olivia smiles down at him this time, refraining from moving to kiss him, and she looks back at Cragen. "Thank you," she whispers, a slight waver of emotion in her soft voice.

"No need, I was just...protecting my family," Cragen returns her smile, then looks over at Tucker who seems to be waiting for him. "I'll meet you two back at the house," he says, and he walks away before either one of them can say anything else. They'll ask too many questions, forcing him to give them answers, and the last thing he needs to do tonight is feed Elliot any more rage.

The truth will come out in time, but for now, the fight against the machine is over, and if he has to hide a few secrets of his own to keep it from rising again, he can live with that.

**A/N: Is it over? Is it not? Let me know...but for now, adieu. **


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: The cross, the capital, the pale families, the fear and the mouthpieces (Rage Against the Machine)**

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

"Our time is almost up," Doctor Emil Skoda sighs, leaning back in his chair. He waits, and hearing nothing, he looks around his office and then glances down at his notebook and shakes his head. "If you're going to say anything else, now would be a good time."

Elliot scoffs, his right knee bouncing as his foot rests on his left thigh. "Didn't have anything to say an hour ago," he huffs. "I'm only here because Internal Affairs…"

"You are here," Skoda interrupts, tilting his head, "Because there are some concerns that your job is in jeopardy because of your…"

"Bullshit!" Elliot shouts in a hard yet bitter laugh. "God, everyone acts like what I've done is some huge fucking problem!" He licks his lips and shakes his head, then drops his foot and leans forward. "Look, Doc, I've never pummeled anyone that didn't fucking deserve it, and when I knew I was in a bad enough mood…"

"You took it out on office furniture and gym equipment," Skoda says flatly. He twirls his pen around in his hand, then picks a few pieces of lint off of his black turtleneck. "So you should get a commendation for taking your anger out on rapists and child molesters instead of little old ladies."

"Damn right I should," Elliot nods with a hard grunt. "You can't tell me that you don't want to do the same fucking thing. These sons of bitches prey on the weak, steal the innocence and faith from…" his nose burns, his breath hitches. "There's no coming back from that! No amount of therapy or progressive treatment…" he drags his hands down his face. "Their childhoods are completely destroyed, and the older vics...they lose trust in everyone, they never feel safe again, sex...one of the fucking most incredible things life has to offer...becomes a phobia!" He rubs his eyes and then says, "And in the worst cases, the trauma is so severe that the abuse...carries over, they become the monsters, I mean, look what happened to…"

"Olivia's mother," Skoda nods knowingly. He watches Elliot's eyes flicker, sees the pride, pain, fury, forgiveness, loathing, love. He scribbles something down in his notebook and asks, "Knowing what happened to Serena, and ultimately what happened to Olivia, that's changed how you do your job, hasn't it?"

Closing his eyes, Elliot nods with his lip caught between his teeth. He's leaning over, his elbows on his knees and his hands folded, and he says, "Before, I mean, I've always wanted to be the guy that took these assholes off the streets, make them suffer the way they deserved, but then...when I met Liv, when she told me...her story…" he shakes his head again, his emotions building and causing a rift between his voice and his brain. "I had a whole new reason to fight, more of a drive to keep it from happening to anyone else, if I could." He bends his head and says, "And now...shit, you have no idea what she's given me in the last two months, how much she's changed me, and it's…" he looks up at Skoda, trying to hold back the tears. "I'm not as angry, not on a daily basis...not the way I was. It's focused, it's controlled, and I vent in...other ways."

Skoda smirks. "Care to share?" He jots a few things down in his notebook and says, "You take up kickboxing?"

"Uh, no," Elliot sniffles and rubs his eyes, and then sits up straighter. "And I don't think...it's really none of your business. It doesn't affect my job, these bullshit sessions with you are only to convince the brass that I'm not self-destructive, I'm not gonna burn out or cause any more trouble with IAB," he checks his watch and stands as he says, "That's time, isn't it?"

Skoda exhales and says, "Yeah," and then he adds, "Now that this isn't part of your session, I need to ask you…" he clears his throat and puts his pen down, folds his hands, and grins, "Are you sure you've got this under control?"

Elliot narrows his eyes and pulls on his coat, runs his hands down his green shirt. "I have total control, when I need it, how I need it," he says, and he gives Skoda a mock salute. "Don't worry about me." He nods and leaves the office, and as he heads down the hall, he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and dials Olivia's number. He squints when she answers, only hearing her yelling at people and barking orders. He falls into a run, leaving the building and sprinting down the street toward the precinct. "Liv?" he calls into the phone. "What the fuck is...well, where is he? That's...that's not like him, did anyone…" he scoffs as he turns the corner, his breathing regulating as he rushes up the stairs. "No, I'm here, I'm in the lobby." He hangs up and waves to the desk clerk, then jets up the steps rather than wait for the elevator.

Olivia turns to him as soon as he walks into the squadroom, her eyes close and her head shakes as she heads over to him. She sips from a coffee mug as her other hand waves as she speaks. "I got Munch and Fin on Thirty-Second, beat cop found two dead pros behind a dumpster. Oh, then I had to send Briscoe out to Queens to notify the parents of a twelve-year old…"

"Hold on," he stops her, grabbing her coffee mug out of her hand. He walks, knowing she's following, toward the back to make her a fresh cup. As he pours, he looks at her, smirks at the hickey peeking out from under the collar of her red shirt, and then says, "You said no one can reach Cragen?" He takes a long sip of the coffee and then hands her the mug. "After what happened on Friday, he picks now to jump ship?" He holds up his hand in it's marker-covered cast. "We're already playing with a handicap, here."

She nods as she swallows her coffee. "Munch didn't want to play boss, Tucker handed you the keys until he finds out where the hell the captain is, but you were out, so I had to handle things, and I can't…" she looks around, then leans into him, "Everyone's looking at me with this...resentment...because I'm a woman, and I'm younger than half of them." She grins then. "Having to tell them what to do when they're looking at me like that? Fucking power-trip." She winks and sips her coffee again. "But now that you're here, One-hand Charlie, you can take your rightful place at the throne." She points to Cragen's office. "They're more afraid of you."

He rolls his eyes and says, "You seem to strike fear in their hearts, too, Benson." He takes off his coat and tosses it over his chair. "Ask," he sighs, folding his arms.

She walks up to him, and asks in a whisper, "Did you kill Skoda?"

He laughs and shakes his head, and he scratches behind his ear as he says, "Thought about it, but no. I'm cleared for the month, won't have to deal with him again until…"

"Stabler, Benson," Ed Tucker storms into the room and snaps his fingers at them. "In that office, now." He raises an eyebrow. "Please?"

Elliot shoots Olivia a confused glance, they each raise an inquisitive eyebrow, and they walk in step toward Cragen's open door, watching together as Tucker stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "What's up?" Olivia asked, unconsciously moving closer to Elliot, sliding to the point their hips touched as they leaned against Cragen's desk.

"Do either of you have any idea how many badges I have to babysit?" Tucker spits, shoving his hands into his grey pockets. "Huh? Do you?" He narrows his eyes. "I don't have the fucking time to keep chasing the two of you around bent rules and temper tantrums as it is, now I have to be on your asses because you captain is playing hide and Goddamned seek!"

"And that's our fault?" Elliot snorts. He crosses his arms low on his stomach, discreetly looping his left index finger through one of Olivia's belt loops. He pulls, a secret signal between them, and hides his smirk well as he says, "We didn't do shit, so you can go find the real dirty…"

"I meant you, as in your unit," Tucker clarifies. He shifts his weight and steps around to the back of Cragen's desk. "I've had five internal reports out of this squad in the last three months. Five!" He looks at the two detectives and slams his hand down on the desk. "Three of them were because of you, Stabler! Now, I don't wanna know what fucking drugs you've been taking to calm your ass down, but now my blood pressure is skyrocketing again and I've got Danielson breathing down my neck to either fix this unit or disband it!" He spreads his arms and says, "How am I supposed to do that with your captain in the fucking wind?"

Olivia leans further into Elliot. "You ever notice the similarities between you and…"

"Please, don't," he whines back at her. He sighs and looks toward Tucker. "How long do we have and what do we need to do?" He bites his lip and tugs harder on Olivia's belt loop, a new desire coursing through his veins.

Tucker sighs but it comes out like a growl. "Budget approval depends on this unit being incident-free for the next two months," he holds up two fingers for emphasis. "Cragen's disappearing act gets put on the books and you're done, and then it's my ass because I hate the sons of bitches outta Brooklyn." He winces and then says, "I got a solution, here, but you won't like it."

"What's the plan, Ed?" Olivia asks, her hand falls over Elliot's on her hip.

Tucker inhales then coughs once. "I make it look like Cragen took administrative leave, I put it in black and white that you're in charge, temporarily of course." He points a finger at Elliot, "You can't be in the field with that broken hand, anyway, and when I find Cragen, he'll be forced to take a week or two off, so I'm not really lying."

Elliot quirks a brow. "You'd do this for us, why?" He shrugs. "You've been trying to…"

"It's my job to threaten you when you throw people through glass plates," Tucker holds up a hand, then he licks his lips and sighs again, "But when you save someone's son, someone's grandma, when you give a broken woman something to believe in and put those demons in the cage, then you...you're the most heroic fucking cops in the department. The two of you are the best of the best, I'm not ashamed to admit that."

Olivia hums in surprise. "Wow, thanks," she breathes.

Tucker nods at her and jams a finger down onto Cragen's desk. "Until I call you, Stabler, you're in here wearing the boss jockeys, and Benson, I know you," he eyes her severely, but then he smiles at her. "You're in here organizing and supervising and working with the victims...you can interrogate and make phone calls all you want, but…" he breathes and pulls on his tie. "I'll hunt down your captain and try to keep the chief from realizing anything's wrong." He looks at them, nodding once at each of them, "You two...save someone's life, today, to make it up to me."

"We'll do our best," Elliot says, and he shakes Tucker's hand as he leaves. He feels Olivia moving to do the same, but he chuckles as he grabs her wrist. "Excuse me, Detective, where do you think you're going?"

She eyes him for a moment. "Back to work."

He runs his eyes down her body, the way her black pants hug her curves and flare over her heeled boots, and he shakes his head. "Not yet," he says, and he pulls her closer to him. "You know how long I've waited to get into this office with you?"

Tilting her head, she smirks. "Oh, you can't be…"

"I'm serious," he nods once, and then he pulls her around the large, cluttered desk. He sits in the cushioned chair, still holding her wrist, and he pulls her closer to him as he says, "These need to come off." He glances up into her eyes. "Now."

She eyes the door, knowing it's not locked but knowing no one would just walk in without knocking, and then she peers down at him. Obediently, she unbuckles and unzips her pants, and she chuckles when he pulls them down roughly. She gasps when he grabs one of her legs and tosses it over his shoulder. "El," she breathes, not stunned at his roughness but by his audacity.

"Baby," he grips her bare ass and moves her body closer to his head, chuckling when he sees how wet she is. Then he inhales deeply and the scent of her arousal makes him moan. "You want this," he whispers.

Her hands move to the back of his head and her head drops back when his tongue starts moving up and down her slit, her nails scrape against his scalp as he rolls and thrusts and she smirks.

He's not satisfied, she's still too composed. He lifts his unbroken hand off of her ass and brings it down against her skin hard, forcing her to buck forward. He thrusts his tongue deeper into her and moans when her back arches.

Her hands fly from the back of his head to the edge of the desk behind her, she's gripping so tightly her knuckles are turning white. "Fuck," she hisses, her hips rocking against his working mouth.

He moans, he knows she feels it rush through her, and he slaps her ass again, hard enough to leave a red handprint on her skin. He moves his lips until he finds her clit and he holds her still as he covers the swollen bundle with his lips and flicks his tongue over it. He has his eyes on her, watching her face twist and her eyes flutter. "Ask for it," he demands, then bites on her clit once.

She gasps and bucks forward when he slaps her again. "Please," she smirks and drags her teeth over her lower lip hard. "Sir," she feels him chuckle against her clit and it makes her dig her nails into the desk, scraping into the cherry finish. "Make me cum?"

He laughs again, it's low and the tremble of his voice hits against her clit as he suckles on it, he feels her legs shake against him. He curls his fingers into the cheeks of her ass and he licks in long strokes again until he has her rolling into him and giving short, breathy cries of his name.

She curls backward when he sucks on her clit again, and she cums with a growl. "Oh, God, Elliot," she whimpers as softly as she can, knowing she can't scream, remembering where they are.

He moves one of his hands around to her stomach and slips it up her shirt to caress her, calming her down as he licks up every drop she's let go. When he's done he pulls her up and drops her ass into his lap, over the cotton covered steel pipe his dick has become, and he kisses her softly while he pulls her pants back up. "You're welcome," he grunts against her lips, then he drops his forehead to hers and whispers, "And thank you."

She kisses him again and winks at him. "Anytime," she whispers breathlessly, still panting. She runs her fingers through his hair, knowing she's just proven that she means it. And then she smirks.

Keeping him calm has its benefits.

**A/N: I had a request to continue this, at least for now. R/R if you want more of this one. **


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: The cross, the capital, the pale families, the fear and the mouthpieces (Rage Against the Machine)**

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

"Good Lord," Elliot stifles a yawn as he takes off his suit jacket. He tosses it into a pile in the corner of the bedroom, reminding himself to take the mountain of clothes to the dry cleaner. He snickers at the mundane thought because he's never been at ease enough to think such things. Especially not after work. "I've only been behind that desk for less than twelve hours, and I can't blame Cragen for running off the way he did after how many fucking years," he says as he pulls off his tie and unbuttons his shirt.

She laughs as she pulls her shirt over her head. "Well, you looked good behind the desk," she says, and she empties her pockets before she drops her pants, tosses her clothes into the hamper, and she's about to reach behind her to unhook her bra, but he moves to her. His hands wrap around her shoulders, stopping her. With a quirked eyebrow, she smirks at him.

"And you looked good bent over it," he says, smoothing her hands away. After he unhooks her bra, he pulls it off of her shoulders, lets it slide down her arms and fall away from her. He moves his hands, then, to her bare ass, squeezing first and then slapping her hard, careful to avoid hurting her with his cast. "Can't get enough of you," he says through a clenched jaw. He kisses her hard and then guides her hands to his pants. "Take them off," he says, still kissing her.

"The kids," she whispers against his lips. It's not something she's used to, yet, not something she's accustomed to worrying about. His kids are in the house, she's in his bedroom on the same floor as his four beautiful children. Sure, the bed has become theirs, the walls have been painted, the furniture has been waxed, the sheets and canopy have been changed, and she now pays half the mortgage which her name is on, but something still feels very wrong about being here. Wrong, but so fucking right.

"They're sound asleep," he mumbles back, and he chuckles as she works on his belt and zipper. He feels her hands move into his pockets, making sure his badge, phone, and wallet land with hers on the end table. He kisses her as she shoves down his pants, then moves with her, guiding her toward the bed, wrapping his hands around her as he throws himself onto the mattress, taking her with him. "Quiet," he tells her, and then he aims and fires.

She presses her lips together hard when he thrusts forward fast, sheathing himself completely. "Fuck," she hisses. It's intense, the way he fills her, the way he fucks her, the way he loves her. "God, Elliot."

He moves his left hand to her right breast and he squeezes hard as he drops his head and sucks her nipple into his mouth. "Shh," he warns, silencing her loud moan. The kids are asleep; they need to stay that way. When he moves his right hand behind her knee, he chuckles and pulls hard on her leg, opening her wider.

"Oh, fuck," she breathes, her fingers twist the bedsheets and her back arches, she feels him shifting, moving, thrusting faster. She eyes him as he rises to his knees, and she holds her breath when she notices the way his entire body seems to go rigid.

His eyes are focused on their connection; he watches with dark eyes and a firm smirk, amazed at the way his dick slides out of her, glistening, coated in her, then disappears when he bucks forward. "So fucking hot," he says softly, and he moves his left hand lower, down her body, until his thumb strokes her clit over and over.

Tonight, it's not about control, it's not about venting or unleashing his anger, it's about his need to send her to the moon and back and prove he's not a selfish lover, that this isn't just for him. He growls as he bends over and kisses her, mumbling against her lips. "How do you want it?"

"Harder," she whispers to him, and she sees the glint in his eyes, the way his lips curl. "Fuck, harder," she says again. As soon as he starts slamming into her more forcefully, she moans and rolls her eyes as an erotic smile crosses her face. "Yes, baby, yes," she breathes. It's uncanny, the way he knows what she needs, what she wants, and gives it to her without hesitation, because it's always the same thing he's after.

With every move of his hips, he pushes away the thoughts from the day that are knocking at the back of his mind. The arguments he'd been in with people who'd refused to take orders from him, the tension he'd felt from dodging calls and questions about Cragen, the self-control he'd exerted to keep from punching walls and hurting the uncooperative hump they'd gotten in the box. He looks down and smirks at her; she's the reason.

He grips her arms, presses them down into the mattress. "You always know," he growls, his hips move with more unforgiving speed. It hits him faster than he expected, but he feels her clenching and pulsing around him as the heat rises in him. He slows his thrusts but keeps them hard, punishing. He kisses her again, holding her down as he grunts into her mouth.

Their phones ring, the same loud tone at the same time, but they're still looking into each other's eyes, still slamming against each other. Voicemail exists for a reason. "El," she whispers. She waits until he looks into her eyes. She knows the rules. "I'm gonna cum," she tells him, and she twists and bends her wrists to clutch his arms as they pin her down.

"Fuck, fuck," he spits out, and he thrusts until her body imprisons his, he knows she's cumming now, he can feel it. He covers her mouth with his, catching her cry, feeling her thrash beneath him. When he cums, his body tenses and shakes, his ass clenches after one final thrust into her, he gives a rumbling growl of her name.

Her shaking doesn't subside until he thrusts again, twice, and then goes limp on her, and he's panting in her ear. Her weak arms pull themselves up slightly and her hands drape over his back. "Oh, my God," she breathes, her chest heaving.

He chuckles and nods, kisses her again, and when he hears his phone ring again he rolls his eyes and says, "Don't move."

"Can't," she puffs to him. She watches as he shoots out an arm and grabs his phone. She whimpers as he moves, his hot cock nestled inside of her, grazing her sensitive walls.

He peers down at her with a sneaky, sexy smirk. "Stabler," he says into the phone. He bends his head and softly kisses her as he listens to the voice on the other end of the phone. "Yeah, I got it, thanks." He hangs up and kisses her again, deeply, longer.

"Who was it?" she asks against his lips.

He brushes his nose against hers and says, "The night crew. I have to call Munch and Fin. Send them out to a scene on Thirtieth." He kisses her again and when he feels her clench he says, "I created a monster, huh?"

"So did I," she bucks against him. They're the only ones who've ever given each other what they truly crave, what they so desperately need, and neither has any intention of giving it all up now. She kisses him again, and then she waits in silence as he calls Munch. Biting her lip, she reaches over for her phone, checking to see who'd called her. "El," she whispers, slapping his arm. "El!"

He hangs up and looks down at her, seeing the look in her eyes. "What?"

She holds her phone out and says, "Cragen called."

"Call him back," he says quickly, and he gets a good grip on her as he rolls them over, keeping her down to him, staying inside of her. He watches as she dials, and he feels the temper scratching at him, trying to escape. He takes a deep breath, looks into her eyes, and he lets her calm him down before it's too late. It amazes him how quickly it happens now. How instantaneous.

Her eyes widen when Cragen answers her call. "Captain, what is going…" her eyes drop to Elliot's, her hand moves over his chest. "Yes, he...he is." She slowly moves, peels herself off of him, and hands him her phone. "He wants to talk to you."

He narrows his eyes and scoffs, taking the phone from her with the fingers of his broken hand, and he gets out of the bed with a huff as he spits out a disheartened greeting. Cragen is the last person he wants to talk to, especially now. "You're where? Why are you all the way the fuck out there?" He starts pacing around the room, unaware she's staring at him.

She can't help it. Every muscle in his body is rippling as he moves, his cock is hard and tight against his thigh, it's tip against his navel. She bites her lip, trying to suppress the urge to moan, knowing if she does Cragen would hear her.

"When are you coming…" he stops when his eyes land on her, they darken and widen. She's sprawled on the bed, her thighs parted, one hand slowly running up and down her stomach, the other smoothing over one of her breasts, teasing a nipple. He drags his hand down his face and the surge of fury he'd just felt is nothing but a memory.

She sees the look in his eyes, the way he's staring at her, and she raises an eyebrow. He isn't the only one with a sadistic side. She drops back to the pillow, lets her legs fall slightly more apart, licks her lips, dares him to make a move.

He grabs his cock when he feels it twitch, grips it tight, and starts to stroke. "Fine, whatever, do what you have to do. Just...we're glad to know that you're okay." He eyes her and gives her an almost threatening gaze. "You, too, Cap. No, I'm...I'm not mad at…" he smiles and lets out a short laugh. "Yeah, I am different. Thanks. Bye." He hangs up and tosses his phone back down on the table, then leaps into the bed with her.

She laughs at the way he's kissing every inch of the front of her body and rubbing his hands over the back of it. Finally, his lips seal over hers. It's slow, deep, passionate. The mood shifts, they're lost to each other in an entirely different way now.

He pulls the sheets over them, nestles close to her, and as he pulls her against him, he says, "You know I love you, don't you?"

"God, yes," she whispers. "I love you, too." She sinks into him, sighs when he wraps himself around her, and when he kisses her neck, she asks, "What did he say?"

"He's in Philadelphia," Elliot says softly. "Says he needs to handle something, he'll be back in a few days. He was actually surprised that I didn't get…"

She cuts him off with a kiss and her hands hook around him as she sighs. "You didn't have the energy to get mad."

He laughs and then says, "Ya know, uh, if tomorrow is anything like what I had to deal with today, you know what that's gonna mean for tomorrow night."

"What?" She looks up at him and runs her fingers along the straight line of his jaw.

He peers down at her, kisses her once, and whispers, "Your turn."

**A/N: I believe the last chapter is next...**


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Spun our minds and through time. Ignorance has taken over. Yo, we gotta take the power back! (Rage Against the Machine)**

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

They'd been at the apartment for two hours. Elliot's brooding had been going on long enough, it had lasted through three glasses of wine, and even Olivia's suggestion of taking a shower together had been refuted in favor of his stern-faced silence and heavily-heaving muscles.

Having his cast taken off gives him the freedom and ability to crack his knuckles, he winces when he does it for the fifth time in an hour. He downs the last sip of his wine and sighs, then eyes her with an unreadable look on his face.

"Okay," she finally says, waiting past her breaking point for him to talk to her. She kicks her feet off of the bed and stands, grabs the empty wine glasses off of the end table, and as she heads out of the room, she says, "If I would have known getting serious with you would immediately turn me into Kathy, I never would have."

"Fucking excuse me?" His eyes narrow at her words, and he rises fast and follows her. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" He watches as she puts the glasses into the sink and then grabs her coat. "What are you doing?" he asks, his heart hammering its way from his chest to his throat.

"I'm going to the house, you want to be alone so badly, so I'll see you in the morning," she tells him, and she's almost to the door when she sees him move out of the corners of her eyes.

"Wait," he gasps, runs a hand down his face, and shakes his head as he steps up to her. "I'm sorry," he whispers, and he grabs her jacket, pulling it back off of her arms. "I just…" he sighs. "I wanted to calm myself down this time, I know when we left work I was so close to blowing up at everyone. I'm trying to get a handle on this...I can't keep taking it out on you."

"That's not what you've been doing, and you know it," she whispers to him. She huffs a bit when he throws her coat back over the leather bench and she cups his face when he turns back to her. "You won't talk to me about what happened in that office, and whatever it was…"

He kisses her softly. He pulls her with him as he walks backward, heading back into the bedroom, and he deepens his kiss as he smooths his hands under her shirt. "I don't want to talk about it," he tells her, "Not until I know what to say...I had to figure some shit out, and I got lost in my own head for a while." He presses his forehead to hers, tugs on the fabric of her shirt to pop the buttons, and he smirks as he whispers, "Forgive me?"

She exhales and nods, her head rubbing against his, and she feels him swaying her as he peels away her clothes. "Are we dancing?" she asks softly, and she moans when he kisses her. She feels his fingers start to roll her pants down over her hips, his palms spread over the cheeks of her ass as he pushes the cotton lower.

"No, but you are," he whispers, and he turns her around. When her pants drop around her ankles, he gives her a soft shove toward the pole in the room. "Dance for me." He bites his lip, his cock twitches.

She turns and looks at him over her shoulder, and she raises one eyebrow. When she smirks at him, she sees the vein in his neck pulse, and she wraps one hand around the thick, metal cylinder. She feels exposed, clad only in her bra and the heels she hasn't kicked off, yet, but she sees the fire and desire in his eyes, the quelled rage she knows he has to fight to keep from boiling over.

He tugs his tie off and tosses it away, and then sits on the edge of the bed, watching her intently. As she moves, so do his fingers, practically ripping his shirt off of his chest. He can't breathe anymore. The more he watches her hips roll, her legs part, her thighs spread, the faster his heart beats. Beads of sweat form on his upper lip when she takes off her bra, and he wipes them away with his shirt before he throws it to the floor.

When she twists and turns around the pole, she hears him moaning, whimpering, and she grins as she throws herself into a spin and slides down, landing on her knees in front of him. She blinks once and it's clearly all he can take.

He grabs her and pulls her up to him, kisses her deeply, his hands grab for her breasts and he bends his head until her left nipple is in his mouth. He hears her heels fall to the floor, and he pulls her up higher. "Fuck, baby," he says as his teeth nip at the rosy bud. "So fucking incredible."

She shakes her head and pulls his hair until he's gazing up at her. "I gave you what you asked for, but…" she pushes him, hard, and then straddles his chest. "It's my turn, remember?"

His eyes widen, he loses his breath again, and he grips her ass as she slinks up his body. "Oh, fuck me," he groans; he feels her leaving a trail of wetness as she slides up his chest. When he figures out what she wants, he chuckles. "Your wish is my command," he says, gazing up into her eyes.

With a wink, she settles herself over his face, her knees rest on the mattress, her thighs close slightly against his ears. She grabs both of his hands and takes them in hers, bringing them up to her chest. Her jaw drops when his tongue starts moving, and she rocks her hips against his mouth. "Yes, Elliot," she pants.

He moans, he knows she can feel it in her pussy, and he starts to twist and pull at her nipples, egging her on, knowing it drives her crazy. He closes his eyes, then, savoring her taste, loving the way she's riding him, the noises she's making. He pulls harder, twists more, makes her back arch, gets her to cry out his name.

"Elliot," she moans again, her hands drop to his head, she pulls at his short hair and bucks her body harder and faster. "Make me cum," she demands on a whine, and she knows he's about to obey.

He growls and slips his hands down her body, grabs at her ass, holds her down to him as he swirls his tongue in tantalizing patterns, thrusts it upward into her three slow, hard times, and then flicks it over her clit. His eyes stay glued to her face as he moves his mouth again, wraps his lips around her clit, and sucks hard until she cries out for him.

Her head flies back, her nails clutch his scalp, and she moans his name over and over until she stops rocking against him. Panting, she looks down at him, sees the smug, satisfied, grin on his face, and knows there's only one way to get rid of it. She moves fast, flattening herself out on him, and she kisses him, hard.

"Fuck," he mumbles against her lips, and he knows damn well she can taste herself now, that in kissing him, the way their tongues dance and tangle, she absolutely can. His hands wind in her hair and he lifts his hips a bit, helping her as she works his pants off, and it hits him. She knows. "Baby," he whispers, kicking his feet to fling his pants away, "Tell me…"

"Figure it out," she snaps, grabbing a fistful of his hair, and she slams her mouth over his again. After a moment, she whispers, "You know what I want."

He hooks his hands under her knees and pulls, and he finds her entrance with ease. Kissing her, he thrusts upward, hard, and he curses into her mouth when she clamps around him immediately and screams against his lips. "Shit, baby," he mumbles, holding her tightly as she vibrates in his arms.

She gives him a throaty laugh and kisses her way down his neck, and then she grazes the skin of his shoulder with her teeth. She feels him twitch inside of her, feels the way his muscles flex and jerk as she moves. "Elliot," she whispers into his ear, and then she darts out her tongue and licks the curves of it, "Make love to me."

In an instant, he has her on her back, her legs wrapped around him. He looks down into her eye and whispers, "Always," as he thrusts forward, sinking deeper into her.

Tonight, there's no pretense, there are no games or gimmicks, she's in control and this is what she wants, what she needs. He will never understand how it's always the same thing he craves, too.

He kisses her and whispers, "I love you," as he pulls out of her, presses her legs upward, and slams back into her. With every slow, deep move, he kisses her again. Their bodies are perfectly aligned, their moans and growls are synchronized and in tune. He curls his fingers in between hers and presses them down into the mattress as he starts to rock in a more fervent rhythm. "Fuck, shit, yes," he spits softly. He drops his lips to her again and thrusts into her again.

Her hands squeeze his, her body rises to meet him, their kiss muffles her whimpering cries and beseeching moans. She pulls away for a moment, takes a deep breath, and says, "God, you feel so good." She nips at his lips again. "So, so good."

He moans and works himself into her deeper, his skin hits against hers loudly, it cracks in the silence. He nods, breathing heavily between kisses, and he feels her starting to shake under him. He drops his head to hers as he works through her clenching. "I love you," he whispers.

"I love you," she moans back to him, and when he kisses her again, her back arches again and she cums with a high, growling cry. It lands in his mouth, her hands tighten around his again.

He lets her orgasm trigger his, he feels his dick pulse as he shoots into her, and there's a part of him that knows he's marking her for life with every pump. He growls as his body seizes and he slams into her one last time.

She laughs when he rolls them over again and she settles over him as she struggles to catch her breath. "Oh, God, that was…"

He kisses her again and wraps his arms around her, holding her tightly as his rapidly beating heart pounds, he's sure she can feel it against her chest.

They spend a few minutes kissing, calming, and making silent promises to each other. He runs his hands through her hair and whispers, "I love you."

She nuzzles him, feels him twitch inside of her again, and she moans and says she loves him, too. And then she asks, "What had you so upset before?" She kisses him softly. "You weren't angry, this was...different."

He exhales and kisses her forehead. "Tucker was just…" he sighs and closes his eyes, drops his head back to the pillow. He looks at her as he twirls her hair with his fingers. "Cragen's not coming back anytime soon, we can't afford to keep you benched and I'm not sure if...I don't think I want to be in that office if it means you're out there doing God knows what."

She peers at him through her lidded eyes. "So your sour mood, that was because you don't want me to do my job…"

"Without me," he interrupts, biting his lip and nodding. He presses his fingers deeper into her scalp. "I don't want you doing anything without me," he whispers. He slides his hands down her neck, her back, and then grips her ass. "I know what we have now...this beautiful, intense...life together...means everything to me, but I'm not completely ready to lose my partner, ya know?"

She hums and her finger traces the definition lines in his chest. "I wouldn't exactly be thrilled having to go out on calls without you," she admits.

He smiles at her and squeezes her ass. "You give me stability, you keep me grounded. Baby, you...you have to understand, even though I get off on the power of being behind that desk, I fucking refuse to let anyone else call you their partner." He holds her gaze. "You're mine," he says.

She moans deeply when he slaps her ass hard with both of his hands. "Yes, I am," she tells him, and she drops her head and kisses him. "And you're mine." She brushes his nose against hers. "So what did you tell him?"

He inhales and clears his throat. "I told him...that until he found someone else to fill in, he would just have to deal with me playing Captain from my own desk." He smirked and smacked her ass again, moaning at her response. "Fuck, I love that you love that," he quips, and he grazes his fingertips over the red palm prints he's left on her skin. "And I love...that you love me."

"I do," she says, and she settles against him, resting her head on his chest. "So much," she sighs. She groans, then, hearing his phone ring. "You're being beckoned, Captain Stabler."

He chuckles. "Well, when you call me that, I fucking love it," he quips. He kisses her forehead as he reaches over to the side table to answer the call. "Stabler," he says, the fingers of his other hand still drawing circles on the cheek of her ass. "Oh, hi," he sits up, stunned. He holds up a finger at her, stopping her from asking questions. "You're where? How the hell...well, Cap, I have to tell her she's…" he taps her on her ass, making her move.

He has to stifle the moan when she pulls off of him, and he gets out of the bed and tries to find his pants. "Hang tight, we...we will be right there." He hangs up and pulls up his pants and says, "You need to get dressed, we have to…"

"I heard," she says, stepping over their tosses clothes to find her bra. "Where is he?"

"Philadelphia," he tells her. He zips up his pants and then moves to find his shirt. "At Riverside Correctional." He pulls it on and says, "In a holding cell."

Her jaw drops and she slips her legs into her pants as she studies him. She sees the signs. His tight muscles, his labored breathing, and his twitching fingers. She throws her shirt on and rushes to him. "Breathe," she says. "Focus it, and breathe," she repeats."And save it for when we get home."

He looks around the room, his eyes drop to the chest of drawers and then over to the swing. He grits his teeth and gives her a much harder slap on her ass. "Prepare yourself," he growls, and he leaves the room to find his shoes and get their coats.

When it registers, she grins. "Bring it on, Stabler," she chuckles, and follows after him, hoping they can get Cragen out of whatever mess he's gotten himself into, and that Elliot won't be pushed over the edge when he's pulled into it.

**A/N: There's more to this story than I thought...hang tight. **


	31. Chapter 31

A/N:** The cross, the capital, the pale families, the fear and the mouthpieces (Rage Against the Machine)**

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

Elliot stares at the aging man in front of him, the veins in his neck are throbbing and there are only two things he wants to do at the moment; neither are possible. He glances through the glass pane in the door, watches Olivia yawn and run her fingers through her hair, then turns back to Cragen and narrows his eyes. "I did not come down here to get myself pulled into some half-cocked search for a corrupt…"

"What is she doing here?" Cragen cuts him off as he buttons the cuffs of his shirt. He looks from Elliot to the door and back again. "I called you, I asked you not to tell her, to come alone."

"I couldn't really get away with not telling her," Elliot smirks and thinks back to exactly where he was an hour ago, in bed, in her. "She was with me when you called."

Cragen's browns knit. "What was she doing with you at two in the goddamned morning?" He scoffs as he pulls on the hem of his shirt. "I know you told me you're in love with her, I assumed you were fucking around, but your kids know? You spend your nights with her? How the hell serious…"

Elliot cracks his knuckles and rolls the tension out of his back and neck, twitching and shifting as his muscles pop and snap. "Fucking around," he sneers, "Is the furthest thing from what we're doing, it was never…" he loses his words on a growl. "Of course, my kids know, we fucking live together, now can you please just tell me what you're doing out here?"

Cragen hangs onto Elliot's last statement, his heart in his throat. "Living together?" He clears his throat and reaches for his jacket. "And what I'm doing...Elliot, it doesn't concern you, okay? Thank you for coming down here, making this look legit, but I can't…"

"Who are you after?" Elliot asks. "Is this what the rats are making you do because you shot Falsone?" He tilts his head and folds his arms, then, and he gives a short, low laugh. "Or was Falsone one of the dirty cops you were after in the first place?"

There's a beat of silence, and then Cragen grins. "This is why you're the acting captain, you're a damn good detective, Stabler." He nods once and says, "I need you to drop me off at the Sheraton hotel, then you call me when you get back home."

Elliot scrapes his teeth over his lip, runs a thick, rough hand down his face, and nods once. "This...what you're doing...it could get you killed, you know that, don't you?"

Cragen says nothing as he pulls his jacket on and gestures toward the door, silently answering the question.

Two and a half hours later, they walk through the front door of the blue house in Queens that had become theirs. She's trying to forget the stream of foul words and hostile complaints that he had spouted in the car, she's trying to forget that her boss is on a mission to prove half the NYPD is corrupt and working for some kingpin in Philly, and she's trying to forget that she's been awake for nearly twenty-four hours and is too tired to sleep now.

"Yo," he calls louder, squinting at her. When she finally turns to him, he asks, "You hear me?"

"Uh, no," she rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands and sniffles once. "What did you…"

"Upstairs," he says, his voice low. He's already gotten his shirt off, the cotton in his hands. "Now." He smiles smugly at the way she moves at his words, and when she starts climbing, he slaps her ass hard. "Move it, Benson."

She shoots him a smoky look over her shoulder. Her lip is pinched between her teeth and the exhaustion in her eyes has been replaced by lust and anticipation. She looks up and down the hallway, then, realizing that Elliot's brother is in the guest room, four beautiful children are in the others, and as she turns into the one that she'd been sharing with him for over a month, now, she sighs.

He hears her, and though his hands are pulling off her clothes and his foot kicks out to close the door, he asks, "What's the matter?" He tosses her shirt and his into the hamper and then looks into her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Absolutely nothing," she tells him, and she skims her hands over his chest as he pushes down her leggings. He chuckles when she obediently complies, kicking them away with her shoes when they fall. He drops his eyes, watches her hands roll down his pants, and he mimics her actions. "On the bed," he growls, his voice like sandpaper grating hot coals.

She backs up, keeping her eyes on his, and they widen slightly when he reaches into the drawer of the end table and pulls out a long piece of red silk. "What are you…"

"Shh," he hushes, and he moves toward her. He rotates her hips so she's flat back, down on the mattress, and he wraps the blindfold around her eyes. "See anything?" he questions, but he knows the answer already. He nuzzles against her face, his breath tickles a spot on her neck that makes goosebumps rise, he can feel them on her skin. He grabs something else out of the drawer and whispers, "Not one sound, understand?"

She nods, and then her mouth falls open. "Oh, God," she breathes softly, feeling the cold metal clamp around her right nipple. The pinch sends sparks down her back, electricity shoots directly to her pussy, and when the second clamp squeezes her other nipple she moans and her back curls without permission.

"Quiet," he reminds her, and he bends to unclip his handcuffs off of his belt. He turns back to her and watches her for a moment, her legs are bent, her hips are bucking involuntarily, and he knows she is trying to clench her thighs together to release some of the tension she's feeling. "Not yet," he laughs, and he grabs her right wrist.

"Jesus," she hisses, feeling him cuffing her hands to the headboard, over her head, the stretch of her torso tightens the chain and tugs on the nipple clamps, and she presses her lips together to keep from moaning as another strike of lightning hits her body.

He walks around the bed, eyes on her shackled body, and he silently opens the closet door. He searches the top shelf, knowing a few of his hidden gems didn't make it over to the apartment yet, and he reaches for one, grabs it, and twirls it between his fingers as he pads back over to the bed. "Self-control, Olivia," he says, "Is something I struggle with, you know that." He holds the stem of the long, white feather between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, drags the fingers of his right hand through the barbs. "Now," he kneels beside the bed, his knees on the plush carpet, "You have to deal with it."

She gasps when the blade of the feather grazes her skin. Her body jerks when the light touch glides down her sides, across her thighs, up and down her long legs. She kicks fruitlessly when he traces the soles of her feet with the tines, and shebited down on the inside of her lip when she feels the tip of the feather slip just barely up her slit, over her clit. "Elliot," she whispers, her breath and her pulse rivaling each other in speed.

He clenches his jaw as he wraps his free hand around his hard cock, and he strokes slowly as he watches the way her body reacts, the way he can see her hair stand on end, the way her stomach clenches and her arms pull in vain attempts to free her hands. He drags the feather over her slit again, and he tells her in a throaty whisper, "Spread your legs." When she does, he moans, the sight of her is almost too much for him to handle and part of him wants to drop the feather and take her now. He doesn't; he lets the feather lick at her clit again, and he can see her growing wetter, her skin glistening as she wriggles on the bed.

"Please," she whispers, "Sir," her hips buck upward and when the chain tugs on her nipples she moans a bit louder.

"You are really pushing it," he chuckles, "Be quiet." He lays the feather down on the floor beside him. He groans as he peels his hand away from his throbbing dick, then leans forward. He rubs his hands together to build the heat, then trails the tips of his fingers along every curve and edge of her body. He traces the path the feather had taken, he breathes a little faster every time her muscles twitch. "Liv, you need to stay quiet," he warns her again, and the smirk on his face tells her he hopes she disobeys again.

She jerks and keens as his rough hands move, she can feel the blood rushing through her, her heart is pounding in her ears and between her legs. Her back arches and she whimpers, the chain between her breasts pulls taut and tugs on her nipples. "Please, Elliot," she begs, and just as she manages to pull her legs closed enough to rub her aggravated clit, his heavy hands grab her knees and yank them apart.

He hears her whine and he climbs from the floor to the bed, one of his powerful legs loops over her body, she's cradled between his thighs and pinned down to the bed. "Bad girl," he says softly, and he leans forward, kisses her, and whispers, "Not...a single...sound." He takes off her blindfold and drops it over the side of the bed. He kisses her again, deeply, capturing the cry that erupts when he grasps and snaps at the chain between her clamps, prying them off of her in one hard movement.

Her hands tug at the cuffs as her back strains in a sharp curve, her scream is swallowed by his working mouth, his tongue delves deeper to suppress the volume. She feels the tears rolling down her cheeks, the evidence of frustration, adrenaline, and pure fucking pleasure.

"Not fucking easy, is it?" he breathes against her lips, his left hand flat, his palm soothing her swollen and sensitive nipple. His right hand cups the side of her face, his thumb swipes over her parted, red lips, and then he grins as his fingers press over her mouth hard. "Quiet," he whispers, and he presses his own lips together tightly as he bucks forward, impaling her.

Her body rises, her eyes roll back, she curses against the skin of his hand. Her nails are scratching at the posts of the bed and she hikes her legs up and hooks them around his back. She pulls with all of her strength, needing more of him, fighting for it.

As he thrusts hard, he looks down into her eyes and he blows her a kiss, winks at her, cups her mouth tighter. "You were so fucking ready," he whispers, "So wet, so fucking hot." He runs his left hand down her body to her ass, finding it lifted off of the bed, and he smacks her hard before he grips her flesh. "Mine," he says, as if he needs to remind her.

She nods and rolls her eyes again, grinning under his palm. She loves every second of this, and she's aware that he knows it. Her heels press into his back, pulling him closer, forcing him deeper as he bucks his hips, and she gives a firm yank on her hands, pleading with her eyes for him to uncuff her. Her fingers burn with the need to touch him.

"Self-control," he hisses, his cock slips into her with ease, slides out all the way, pushes back in, in a hard and steady rhythm. He makes sure their bones hit with every thrust, that she can feel every fucking inch of him, that he reaches her as deeply as possible.

The louder her moans get, the more firmly he seals his hand over her mouth. He grunts once when she licks his palm, and when her teeth nip at the thin skin he growls at her. "Don't," he warns.

She snaps her teeth again, and she moans when he moves his hand and curls himself forward to press his head to hers. Their eyes are locked, open wide, trained on each other.

He's completely folded over her, his hands gripping both of her hips. He knows he's leaving marks again, but the thought of branding her makes him drive forward, move faster, hit into her harder. The only sounds in the room are his intensely low-pitched grunts that land when his cock buries itself fully into her. "Ask," he whispers, they're so close his lips brush hers as he speaks.

"Not yet," she mouths, shaking her head. The motion shakes loose the beads of sweat that formed between them, the salty droplets run down her cheek and she yanks again on her wrists, whimpering. "Fuck," she gripes, and it's only when his hand whips her ass again she knows it's no use.

He slaps her again and takes pride in the fact that she leans into it, not away from it, her body rises to his, her lips press themselves together so she doesn't scream. "That's my girl," he praises, and he slams into her hard, then rocks his hips slowly. Moving within her now, he kisses her. "I can feel you, you're gonna fucking cum, ask for it," he whispers.

She kisses him, her lips form the words against his but it's as if someone pushed a mute button, no sound whatsoever escapes her. "Please," her mouth begs silently.

"Fuck," he breathes, his back tensing, and he drags one tremoring arm up the side of her body, sling the length of her outstretched arm, and he turns the small, silver key to free her wrists. He gasps when the cold metal hits the hot skin of his neck, her arms wound around him immediately, and he brushes his nose against hers as his ass clenches with small, inward thrusts, somehow working himself deeper and fucking her from the inside out. "Cum for me," he commands, "Fuck, baby, please...cum for me."

He feels her nails dig into the skin of his neck, her body pulses beneath him. He moans when her pussy tightens around his cock, making any further movement impossible, he's cuffed the way she'd been, she's getting even now. "Liv," he says softly, and he moans again.

She feels his entire body start to tremble on top of hers, he's the one trying to push the limits of his self-control now, and then it hits her. Her spine twists, her legs lock around his body, her eyes clasp shut and she sees brightness burn behind her lids. Her nails carve deeper into his skin as she turns her head and whispers, "God, Elliot, I'm cumming."

"Fuck, baby, I know you are," he grits out, letting her pulsing walls pull and tug and take what little resistance he has left in him. He finds her lips with his and curls his hands around her hips as he fires hotly into her, his body convulsing with every violent spurt.

There's not a sound between them, aside from smacking lips and working tongues, their bodies noiselessly pressing further into each other and taking whatever is left to give. His slow, silent thrusts elongate, his need to feel the euphoric pain of bringing her to the edge again despite his sensitivity winning over his exhaustion.

It hits fast, her back arches, her lips press to his again, and she makes soft, high, squealing noises against his mouth. She feels him throbbing, twitching, and she knows he's shooting a few more fiery bullets of his own.

When he stops thrusting, she sinks into the mattress. He moves and grabs her hands, taking off the cuffs and tossing them down to the carpet. "Fuck," he laughs, and he gets a solid grip on her. He's still inside of her, rolling onto his back and kicking the sheets into a comfortable pile. He kisses her neck, chin, then her lips, slowly. His fingers rake through her hair.

"I love you," she whispers. Her hands smooth over his heaving chest, she feels his body rise and fall beneath her. "I love you," she says again, as if repeating it will calm him down.

He nods, panting, and on a breath, he says, "I love you." He kisses her again and then rolls his head to the side. "Shit," he breathes, seeing the bright green numbers on the clock staring back at him. "Close your eyes, baby," he whispers, hoping sleep comes before their phones ring, before he has to pull double duty at work, and before he asks Olivia a question he knows she's not ready to answer.

**A/N: Hmm not the question you think...is it? **


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: The cross, the capital, the pale families, the fear and the mouthpieces (Rage Against the Machine)**

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

Elliot's in the middle of pouring himself his fourth cup of coffee in less than six hours, a habit he thinks he's picking up from Olivia and not from his newly heightened levels of stress and exhaustion. He turns, knowing someone is staring at him, and he sighs as he speaks. "I'm not supposed to have to deal with you for another three weeks, Doc."

Skoda chuckles. "Just checking on you," he shrugs. "Your situation is a bit more dire than it was a week ago, figured you might need to talk. Maybe seek some advice."

"And what's that supposed to mean, exactly?" Elliot sips his coffee as he stares skeptically at Skoda. He takes a few steps toward his desk and pushes the sleeve of his left arm up a bit higher.

"This, uh, turn at the captain's wheel wasn't as temporary as you'd hoped." Skoda tilts his head and looks at the state of Elliot's desk. More files than one small surface can hold, stacks of photos and pink and yellow sticky notes. "You're refusing to use the office, yet you're not out there with your partner and she's not in here...that's gotta be causing a lot of…"

"Look," Elliot gruffs as he drags a hand over his face, "We got swamped. Trust me. Is much rather have her in here…" he licks his lips and shakes his head. "Or I'd rather be out there." His eyebrows work up and down once and he takes another sip of his coffee. "I figured out why the brass handed me the keys."

Skoda smirks. "Enlighten me," he says, and he props himself up on the side of Olivia's desk. He folds his hands into his lap and waits.

"Their way of keeping me on a leash," Elliot scoffs. "Ya know, with Cragen gone, I'd be more of a loose cannon, no one around to reel me in, no telling what rules I'd break or what risks I'd take." He exhales as he plops into his seat and he picks up two of the files from the hefty pile. "Their way of keeping me too busy to break an arm in interrogation or shoot to kill on the street…"

"Is that what you think?" Skoda sucks in a breath at the stunned and inquisitive look on Elliot's face. "You are one of the best detectives this city has ever seen, sure you break rules and a couple of bones, but it's never just because you're a loose cannon. You're more determined to get the scum off the streets than anyone in the department, you're rightly pissed off at the rapists and pedos, and you're one of the only guys in the unit with a family. Kids. You collar a guy for raping a child, you instantly think of your own, and you still do the job. Fighting with your emotions the whole time."

Elliot drops the files and licks his lips again. One eyebrow quirks. "Yeah," he whispers.

Skoda raises a hand and points to him. "You're so used to seeing your own faults and failures, because that's the guy your father saw. But you stop and try to look at yourself the way the city sees you, the way your kids see you, the way...the way Olivia sees you." He smiles slightly when he notices Elliot's eyes widen a bit, the corners of his mouth tug. "You spend so much time and energy helping everyone else...people you don't even know...that you don't even have dregs left to help yourself. It takes a lot of strength to do what you do, Elliot. You're stronger than most people give you credit for, but if you don't start to talk about what's going on inside your head…"

"What's that gonna get me, huh?" Elliot interrupts. He scratches at the side of his face. "I tried to talk to Kathy once...she couldn't even stand to be in the same house as me afterwards. Left, took the kids to her mother's for a week. All she said to me was that now she understood why I was so angry all the time."

Skoda reaches out a hand and grabs a frame off of Elliot's desk. He looks at the photograph and he lets himself smile fully. "You got some beautiful kids," he says, and then he holds the frame out to Elliot. "But the woman in this picture isn't Kathy. You talk to her, don't you?"

Elliot's face falls into a countenance of serenity and absolute love as he looks at the picture and wraps a hand around the silver frame. "About everything, anything, she…"

"So why'd you bring up Kathy?" Skoda taps the frame. "Stop holding onto the things in your past that you regret, that you can't change. Your father, your divorce, your infractions at work...and start living the life you deserve to live with that beautiful woman and those incredible kids who don't even consider a single moment from your past a failure."

Elliot's mouth opens, he's about to say something, make a confession, but loud shouts from the doorway stop him before he can. He stands as he watches Olivia and Fin storm into the squadroom.

"You didn't even tell me where you were going!" Olivia tells, there's a balled up paper towel in her hand, pressed against the side of her head.

Fin rolls his eyes and throws up his hands. "I always run to head the pricks off at the pass!"

"Well, how the hell would I know that? I'm not Munch, in case you haven't noticed! I'm used to actually communicating with my partner!" Olivia snaps, and she moves the paper towel as she shakes a hand in Fin's direction. "You're fucking lucky that taxi stopped when it did, because I would have…"

"What the hell is going on?" Elliot asks. He moves fast, grabs Olivia's head, examines the cut above her eye. "How the fuck did this happen?"

Olivia sighs and rolls her eyes. "We were chasing Velendez, I thought we were gonna flank him and take him down, but then Sideways Steve over there bolts across the street without telling me, it gave Velendez a window, he grabbed a knife off of a vendor's cart and threw it at me."

Fin shakes his head. "I was gonna run out in front of him from the other direction, get in his way! I didn't mean to…"

"Well, you did!" Olivia barks, and she looks back at Elliot who's taken the paper towel out of her hand and is holding it to her head himself. "Velendez ran out into the street, right into the side of a cab. I got him cuffed, read him his rights, and Fin was still on the other side of the damn street." She whispers, then, "I can't do this. I can't work with him. He's not…" she sighs. "He's not you."

Elliot nods, hiding the cocky grin on his face with a hand. He takes a long look at her, hiding his approval at the way her maroon suit clings to her curves. "Where is Velendez?" He looks at Fin.

Fin brushes off the sleeves of his black jacket and says, "Down in processing," then he clears his throat. "Look, man, I'm sorry! I'm used to Munch knowing and expecting…"

"And I'm used to Elliot talking to me before making a move! You can talk and run at the same time, can't you?" Olivia asks, then she relents. "Whatever, we got the guy, he lawyered up in the car. As soon as the public defender gets here, we can talk to him."

Elliot leans closer to her. "This doesn't look too bad," he says, and he moves for a moment to get a band-aid out of his drawer.

She breathes him in as he peels the paper off of the bandage. His cologne and his soap mix together in her lungs and she moans softly. She notices his untucked shirt, loosened tie, the way his pockets are stuffed with tissues and rumpled papers, and she has to ask. "Are you okay?"

He lightly presses the band-aid over her cut. "I have to be," he says, and then he looks at Fin. "You need to watch your partner's back, no matter who it is, or where you are. You're telling me that it's common practice for you to run in the opposite direction, across the damn street, leaving Munch to fend for himself?" He rubs his temples, mumbles something about wondering how Cragen managed to stay sober, and he starts to say something else but the phone on his desk rings at the same time as his cell phone.

Skoda watches as Elliot winces and digs his cell phone out of his pocket and answers both calls at once. He smooths his hands down the sleeves of his black shirt and purses his lips. Maybe once a month isn't gonna be enough.

When the night is over, and the kids are fed and in bed, Olivia takes the chance she knows she needs to take. She shifts in her spot on the couch, drops her bare feet to the plush carpet, and grabs both of his hands. "Rough day," she says. It's a question, an observation, and an accurate statement.

He makes an agreeable noise as he tilts his head. "How's your head?" he asks, and he narrows his eyes when she starts pulling him up and off the sofa. He pulls on his tee shirt as he speaks. "Tired? We heading to bed?"

"You've done enough talking today." She leads him to the stairs and tells him, "I heard you yell, a lot, and you wrote Fin up twice."

"He threatened a victim," he defends, and he starts to say something else but her hand moves fast, cups his mouth. He raises an eyebrow.

She presses her hand deeper against his mouth as she guides him toward the bedroom door. "Just be quiet," she whispers, and her other hand drops his before she tugs on the elastic of his flannel pants.

And the articles of clothing are peeled away, the same way they'd been when they walked through the door a few hours ago, they end up in the same pile as the suits and silk shirts. His and hers. Entangled. Meshed. Everything in the house, in their lives, is joined and tethered. The thought makes him moan as he kisses her and he remembers that there's something he wants to ask her. Before he can even open his mouth, as if she knows, she shakes her head. He smirks at her and follows her commands as she pushes him onto the bed.

She straddles him, slowly making her way up his strong, muscular body, and she surprises him by moving her hand fast and letting her handcuffs dangle from her fingers. "You have the right to remain silent," she whispers, and she chuckles as she cuffs him to the bed the way he'd done to her only a few nights ago. Once he's latched, she drags her nails slowly down his arms, remembering how incredibly worked up he'd been all day, how intensely pressured he'd been all night. The chief of D's had strolled into the unit just after three and didn't leave until they did, Elliot had to run the ship under scrutiny, he had to boss his friends around, he had to sign more documents today than he had in the last two months, and she knows that this is what he needs. The only thing that will give him a way out of his own head tonight.

He keeps his curious eyes on hers, their stare is always intense but there's something different in her eyes, tonight. Something almost unforgiving. He gasps when he feels one of her fingers graze his shaft, his hips rise slightly in response.

A small satisfied chuckle escapes her, she feels him harden and stiffen in her hand. As she starts to slowly stroke him, she leans over to him. "In case it wasn't clear," she whispers, "You're not in charge here." She moans when his dick twitches under her touch. "You like that, huh?" she says, and she licks her lips as she speeds up, tightens her grip.

He's been awake for almost forty-eight hours, disturbed before falling asleep and called into clerical duties for hours before his shift had officially started. He hasn't shaved, hasn't been able to take a deep breath, and he's holding the weight of Cragen's secrets along with the fear that he's going to fail and let down his children, his Olivia. He opens his mouth, but the way she glares at him and pulls harder on his dick silences him except for the muffled curse he growls.

It's been killing her watching him take on too much, too soon, without any preparation or desire to do it, and here, now, she is taking that confining control away from him and forcing him to submit, relent, relax. It's something he'd told her he'd needed long ago, and something she's happily supplying for him. "Don't fight it," she whispers to him.

He can't help it, he obeys. He bucks his hips upward, fucking her hand, his eyes close and roll behind his lids. All he can focus on is the way she's touching him. One soft hand stroking him hard, applying the perfect amount of pressure to bring him over the edge fast while the other hand rests on his chest and squeezes into his sore muscles. "Liv," he whispers. "Fuck, Liv, I…"

Her lips slant over his, both silencing his words and muffling his grunts as he cums. She moans against his lips as he shoots out over her hand, his thighs, and she pulls away from him and holds his gaze as she slinks down his body.

He's moaning softly, almost whimpering. She's still slowly stroking him, his hot, sensitive dick growing more angrily heated with every pass of her palm. His eyes pop as he watches her tongue dart out, he doesn't blink as she licks the evidence of his climax off of his thighs, he holds his breath as she cleans up her wrist and knuckles before taking his overworked cock into her mouth. As soon as he feels himself slipping down her throat, he moans her name again. "Fuck, I need to touch you."

She hums around him as she shakes her head, and slowly she pulls him out of her mouth for a brief moment to say, "Shut up, Elliot."

Her brown eyes sparkle as she sinks down on him again and he feels his legs begin to burn. He bites the inside of his cheek as his stomach muscles clench and twist, his knees pop off the mattress and slide against her skin because he craves more of her. His eyes roll back again and his thighs start to shake. One of her hands is pulling at and rolling his balls as she takes all of him into her hot, wet mouth, and he's already too close to cumming again. His grunts and muffled swears filter through the room and he thanks God he had the good sense to close and lock the door.

It amazes her, the look in his eyes right before he cums. It's as if every secret he has is exploding into blue and green spirals of love, lust, need, pride, guilt, hope, and infatuation. Every emotion is clear and present despite the clouding and overwhelming of certain ones over the others, and they're all hidden behind shock and surprise, as if he can't believe he's here, like this, with her. She sucks a little harder, takes him down a little deeper, and rolls his balls a little more, because she needs him to believe it all.

He strains himself as he pulls on the cuffs, hoping they snap, knowing they won't. "Liv, baby, please?" he whispers, and he knows she won't give in, but he tries. "Ah, fuck," he spits out, and then his mouth clamps shut, his jaw tightens, his eyes squeeze shut, and he lets go. His chest heaves as he cums again, this time he feels her throat contract around him as she swallows every shot. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he spits out quickly, the immense pleasure just enough to outshine the pain and horrible sensitivity.

She smirks as she slips away, keeping her mouth around the pulsing head of his cock. This need of his has always infatuated her, she'd never imagined he'd get off on sustained stimulation and post-orgasmic pain, but it has been one of the kinks he's had to deny himself for so many years, that now she feels that it's her right and blessing to give it to him whenever possible. He doesn't even have to ask for it anymore. She sucks one last time and then pulls herself away from him, watching his chest rise and fall the way it does after a five-mile run or a round in the boxing ring.

He wheezes as he inhales, feeling her body moving up his, her skin against him, her hands running up his arms. He's hopeful as he opens his eyes and he silently begs her to uncuff him. He cranes his neck to kiss her, and when he finds her lips and tongue, he greedily deepens it.

While one of her hands curls around the back of his head, the other moves under his pillow, finds the small, silver key, and she gives him what she knows he wants, because what is about to happen requires the use of his hands. She twists and unlocks him, and pulls herself away from him and whispers, "You're not in control."

He nods, understanding, as his hands slide down to her hips. He gasps loudly when she sinks over and onto him, his cock still burning, still incredibly sore and sensitive to her wet heat. He lets out a frustrated, strangled moan when he feels her clenching already, because he knows from experience, this is going to be fast, strong, intense. He grips her ass and nods at her, and he readies himself for what's coming.

The eye contact between them remains unfaltering, her body rocks and rolls against his. Her fingers trail up and down his chest, she moans every time a muscle twitches, and she mouths something to him and smiles before her palms smooth over his nipples.

He will never get tired of watching the way she rides him, the erotic look on her face that seems to be drawn directly from fantasies he's had about her, ones that are now his reality. He moans as she twists and toys with his nipples, the motions sending more shockwaves down his spine directly to his dick. He thrusts himself upward involuntarily, and he prays she's aware of it. "Baby, I can't…"

Her body leans forward and she practically forces one of her nipples into his mouth, needing to shut him up, and she moans when he takes the bait. "Oh, God, Elliot," she cries, directly into his ear. "God, I love what you do to me," she whimpers, her body rocks a little faster, she rises and falls and meets his bucking hips a little harder. "I fucking love the way you make me feel." She nips at his earlobe, bites it and pulls, then as she lets it go, she whispers, "I love you."

He grunts as the last word hits him, he grabs her hips and feels her slamming down on him harder and harder, over and over again. He knows his fingers are digging into her skin hard enough to bruise again, but he also knows now that she's a fast healer and she fucking loves when he leaves his marks. "Baby," he says through a tightly shut jaw, "I love you, too."

She moves her head in time to scream into his mouth, her body going fully rigid and clamping him so hard that he can't move at all.

He holds her as she vibrates, as her hips rock fast as tightly pressed to him as possible. He cums with a trembling, almost painful growl, but moans as he strokes his hands along her skin as she rides out her orgasm, as powerful and violent as it is. He keeps kissing her, brings one hand up to work through her hair as they try to calm themselves down. He knows if he opens his eyes, he won't see anything, he's lost vision. All of his senses are weak, except for touch, because he can feel everything intensified by at least five.

She slows their kiss, deepens it, unravels her hands from the sheets, spalys them over his chest and whispers something to him.

He laughs and says, "God, me, too. Never. Just with you. Only you, baby." He brushes her hair back and blinks his eyes open, squinting at the pain of the dim light coming in from the window. "You...you knew I was…"

"I know you," she whispers, and she drops three soft kisses to his chest as she settles against him. "Maybe you can get some sleep, tonight," she says.

He nods as he stifles a yawn, this experience taking it's exhaustive toll on him, but as he cuddles her closer and shifts into a more comfortable part of the bed, he says, "Baby, uh, something Skoda said to me today…really got to me."

"I thought you ignored everything he says," she says with a slight smirk. Her nails are dragging up and down the side of his body as she rises and falls with his chest from his still-heavy breathing.

"Usually, I do, but this…" he exhales. "I'm not holding back with you, you know that, don't you?"

She lifts her head and is surprised to see him staring right at her. "I'm pretty sure we don't keep anything from each other," she whispers. "You've let me into parts of you that…"

"I mean," he interrupts her, and he shifts again to wrap himself around her more. "I'm not trying to keep us from...taking the next step, here. I'm not purposely avoiding labelling this as...what it is...because of what happened with Kathy."

Her head tilts and her eyes narrow. "Is this about what I said the other day about you not talking to me? I was kidding, I know you aren't doing what you did…"

"No, no, just," he clears his throat and rolls them over, peering down at her is easier than looking up. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I don't just mean because you give into my fetishisms and feed into my idiosyncrasies." He licks his lips. "You make me happy, whether we're at work, in bed, asleep, washing the damn dishes, especially when we're with the kids. You...you've never made me feel weak, or like…" he shrugs. "You've never judged me by my mistakes, you've never held them against me."

"What the hell did Skoda say to you?" she raises an eyebrow and cups his face. "I'm not leaving you, I'm…"

"No," he laughs, and he holds his hands over hers on his cheeks. "He just made me realize that I can't keep holding onto things I think of as failures and use them as excuses to keep me from living the way I want to with you and the kids." He kisses her and he whispers something into her ear, the question he's been holding onto for almost a week, the words he's been too afraid to speak to her.

Her eyes glimmer with the buildup of tears and her lip trembles as she tries to smile at him. "Are you sure that's what…"

"You've talked about it so often...and every time you bring it up...especially now," he smiles at her and bends his head to kiss away the few falling tears. "Yes. Couple of things to take care of first, but...yes. I'm absolutely sure."

She kisses him, hard, and nods as their foreheads press together. Their laughter fills the room and the sheer joy between them ignites a new bond between them as they snuggle close and settle into each other, into sleep.

With the choices and promises they've made fresh in their minds, they dream it all into existence, unaware that something heading their way is about to make it all so much more complicated.

**A/N: What choice? What promise? What did he ask her? What's complicated?**


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: The cross, the capital, the pale families, the fear and the mouthpieces (Rage Against the Machine)**

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

He knows he shouldn't have slammed the door as hard as he'd done it; he knows the people beyond the walls are confused and one of them is more worried than the others. He's trying to take deep breaths, he loosens his tie and unbuttons his collar to help the process, but it doesn't seem to be getting any easier. Rolling up his sleeves, he hears the door open, he knows who it is because she's the only one who wouldn't knock.

"What the fuck is the matter with with you?" Her voice is cold, her hands are wrapped around the sleeves of her long-sleeved red cotton shirt, it matches the tinge of her lips and cheeks now.

He doesn't look up at her. His eyes are glued to the tattoo on his forearm. The globe, the world he'd sworn to protect, the world he'd promised to make a safer place for his children. He runs a finger along the curves of the anchor, Naval commitment and the promise to keep firm in the grounded roots of his training, stay strong, stay dedicated. The eagle, its talons digging into the Earth, carrying it, holding it, its broadly spread wings declaring patriotism and love and honor. The tip of his finger glides along the ribbon in the eagle's beak. The words _semper fidelis_ clearly etched into the run, and Into his skin. "Always faithful," he whispers, and he realizes now that it's missing something. Someone. He decides then and there that he's going to pay a visit to a local shop as soon as time allows.

Staring at him, flummoxed, Olivia turns and locks the door, then crosses her arms again. "Okay." She moves and plops on the corner of Cragen's desk. "What's wrong?"

He sighs and raises both brows for a moment. "CompStat," he huffs. He shakes his head and then finally looks up, into her brown eyes for the briefest of moments before the undeniably angry low growl of his voice fills the room. "Commissioner fucking railed into me because Cragen didn't prioritize some case we've never even fucking heard of, now it's in my lap, and it's my ass on the line." He rubs his eyes and moves, then drops his head and points to the door. "I need you to get outta here, I came in here to cool off, because I can't really control what's coming out of my mouth…" he balls his fists, cracks his knuckles, and says, "I'm not gonna snap at the one person in this fucking building who doesn't deserve it."

She watches the way his nostrils flare, the way his shoulders rise and fall as he tries to take deep, even breaths. Her eyes fall to the clenching of his jaw, the vein on the side of his neck that's throbbing and turning bright blue. Before she knows it, she's on her feet, in front of him, grabbing both of his hot hands. "So don't say anything." Her eyes find his, and as she stares at him, she moves his hands to her hips, making good on her promise to be his release, his solace, whenever he needed it.

One blink and it hits him, what she's offering, and in his mood he can't refuse. He doesn't have the strength, the desire, or the control to do it. He smirks at her as he grips her hips and turns her around, pushes her hard until she's bent over the side of the desk. One of his hands slides down her spine to the band of her pants and he tugs once. "Down," he spits out, and he chuckles when her hands fly to the front clasp to loosen her belt, unzip her slacks, and roll them low on her hips. His other hand winds itself into her hair and he pulls hard, curling her back and bringing her ear to his lips.

Her lashes flutter at his words and she bites her lip. She hears the jingle of keys, the cling of his belt buckle, and he knows he;s working himself out of his pants. The way he inhales her, the tip of his nose grazing her skin, sends chills down her spine, and she scrapes her teeth over her lip as she feels him reclaim her hip with his left hand.

He yanks on her hair again, knowing she loves it as much as he does, and he thrusts hard, fully sheathing himself inside of her. He falls forward when he bottoms out, buries his head in her hair before a groan of her name leaves his lips. The relief that comes with sliding home is one of the most intense feelings he's ever known, and he refuses to ever live without it. Without her. He lets himself stay for a moment, his fingers run through her hair and he mumbles something he knows she can hear.

Her body is already shivering, not just because of the feeling of him, his depth, his size, the way she still has to stretch and adjust the slightest bit every single time. No. It's anticipation. Her arms stretch out over the desk, and she' only now realizing it's completely bare, no files, no phone, nothing. Her fingers curl around the sides of the polished oak and she moans softly when she feels him starting to move.

He balls his right hand into a fist, latching onto her hair and pulling hard, his left hand grips her hip and keeps her pressed against the desk, holding her firmly while he moves. His skin slaps against hers loudly, sof grunts punctuating every one of his thrusts like erotic exclamation points.

It's fast, hard, his wrath extolling itself in heavy hits of his hips and powerful thrusts that seem to build up from his strong shins and follow through his powerful thighs. The way he slams into her so roughly forces the soft cries out of her, her voice wavers on each one, the smile never leaves her face.

He rolls his eyes when he feels her starting to clench, the speed with which he's brought it all to the surface surprises him. He presses his lips together and moves the hand on her hip, raising it high and bringing it down on the bare skin of her ass. He growls at the noise she makes. He smirks and slaps her again, harder, watching the way her skin reddens in response. Slowly, he soothes the welts, gently running his palm over the hot imprint of his fingers, and in this moment he thinks about how fucking lucky he is, how much he loves her, and how much she must love him.

Her back arches again and she clutches the desk harder, and the only thing she says is a question she knows she has to ask, "Am I asking or telling?"

He pulls her hair again, watches her lips curl into the most licentious smirk he's ever seen, and he whispers, "Tell me, baby."

"Fuck," she hisses, throwing her head back, "I'm cumming." Her body goes rigid beneath his, she feels him pummelling through her tightness, the way he drags himself through as she pulses sets off another hard climax. She clutches his wrist and yanks it hard, cupping his hand over her mouth. She presses his fingers against her tightly closed lips as she screams and she hopes it's not as loud as it feels.

It's his undoing, and he slams into her one last time before shooting like a cannon, slow and deliberate hot fireballs, aiming, praying for a bullseye. His muscles tighten so tensely that they tremble and he ekes out a low, vibratory growl as he gives one more thrust, as if to say _I win_ before he kisses the back of her neck. "Jesus...fucking…"

"Christ," she nods, breathing heavily. She straightens up when he pulls her, they spend a few quiet moments readjusting each other's pants and shirts, and she cocks an eyebrow at him as she turns his arm over in her hands, two fingers drag down his Marine tattoo. "You were staring at this," she pants. After licking her lips, she whispers, "Why?"

He kisses her slowly, and just after he pulls away, he whispers something into her ear. The flicker in her eyes at what he's told her makes him smile and he gives her a soft swat on her ass. "Let's go, we have more work than necessary thanks to Commissioner Fuckwad, but, uh, thanks to you...my head is clear enough to get it done."

"Commissioner Fuckwad," she nods with a slight pout. "Is he new?" She follows him out of the office, ignoring his chiding remarks, "Did Morris retire? DOes it actually say Fuckwad on his tag?"

Elliot turns to her mid-laugh. "I love you," he whispers with a wink, and as soon as he turns again and faces the rest of the unit, his game face is on, his guard is up, and his focus is on the job.

It's after ten when they open the door, and they know the kids are in bed. She shuts the door and rubs her eyes as she peels away her leather jacket. "Remind me to give Cragen absolute hell for this when he gets back." She tugs off her blazer. "We had to have set some kind of record, tonight."

"Jesus, it's good to be home," he groans, pulling his coat and his suit jacket off at the same time He hangs them on the rack, laughing when he sees that he's covering Olivia's hands with the fabric. After he helps her finish hanging her jackets up, he kisses her forehead, then her lips. Then, he realizes they're not alone, and with wide eyes, he swivels around to face the young man standing in front of the sofa. "Kenny," he grins sheepishly.

Ken Tutuola chuckles. "I hang around here enough to know, but I'm not…" he scratches his head and shrugs. "I'm guessing my dad doesn't know about you two, right? He won't hear it from me." He licks his lips and hikes the strap of his bookbag a little higher over his shoulder. "I don't, uh, really talk to him about...anything."

"I know how that goes," Elliot sighs with a longful look in his eyes, a deep seated pain making itself known. He has his wallet out, flipping through bills to pay the teenager. "Never really talked to my father about anything, either." He tries to smile as he hands Kenny five crisp twenty-dollar bills. "You want me to give you a ride home?"

"No, Sir, I got the car, tonight." Kenny takes the money, but he holds Elliot's stare. "Could I, uh…" he looks at Olivia. "Liv, I kinda need to ask him something, ya know, um…" he makes an odd face at her. "Man to man? If that's okay?"

Olivia smiles warmly, squeezes his shoulder, and says, "Sure, sweetheart," and glances knowingly at Elliot. "I'll go check on the kids."

Elliot narrows his eyes, though, worried, and looks at Kenny with concern. "You're not about to tell me you need me to take some kind of statement, are you?"

"No, no, no," Kenny babbles, shaking his head quickly. "I just…" he lets a hard breath out through rounded lips and then inhales sharply again. "I feel closer to you than I do my own father, and I need to ask you for some advice." He runs a hand over his closely shaved head, leans back on his heels, and then shuffles his feet nervously. "Wow, uh, I had this all planned out in my head."

Elliot grins, the awkwardness of trying to talk to his brothers about certain things when he couldn't go to his father comes back to him in technicolor. "Why don't we sit down, huh? Relax." He leads Kenny toward the couch and sits, and then he says, "You know you can tell me anything."

"Yeah," Kenny nods, "That's why I feel like I can come to you with this." He scratches at his neck, pulls at the collar of his red polo shirt, and then he takes another deep breath. "You know my dad, you're one of his best friends, so I need to ask you...how you think he's gonna react when I tell him…" he chews on the inside of his lip and he closes his eyes for a moment. He swallows the obvious fear that has built in his throat, and he looks over at Elliot as he slowly breathes out. "When I tell him I'm gay." The disgust and shock he expects doesn't come, and he's met with a firm hand on his shoulder and the kind of look he's never gotten from his own father. He relaxes.

Elliot smiles and says, "He's your father. I can't speak for him, kid, but I do know how much he loves you. He regrets not having the best relationship with you, in the worst way, and he wants more than anything to fix that. If you're asking if this is gonna make him love you any less, the answer is absolutely not." He lets his hand fall away from Kenny's shoulder and he folds it into the other as he leans his elbows on his knees. "He talks about you a lot, how proud he is of you, and ya know...he's your father, I'm pretty sure he already knows. Just take him out someplace for burgers, tell him the way you told me, he might surprise you."

Kenny smiles and lets out a relieved laugh. "Thank you," he says, and he stands again, "Thank you, for everything. He shakes Elliot's hand and doesn't object when it turns into a manly, fatherly hug. "Dickie was right," he says, backing away. "You really are the coolest dad ever," he nods once, then heads for the door, not looking back.

Elliot narrows his eyes, a soft almost disbelieving laugh leaves him, and he tilts his head as he stands. He'd always hoped his children loved him, looked up to him, that he was, in fact, the kind of father he'd always wanted, yearned for, and that he was truly nothing at all like Joe Stabler. Now, he has the validation and it fills his heart with something it had been missing, makes part of the angry machine living in him self-destruct. With another breath, he turns to head up the stairs, but he sees her standing there. He knows what the look she's giving him means. "You're wearing your proud face, what'd I do?" He walks toward her, his arms automatically looping around her.

"Just when I think I love you as much as I possibly can," she says, shaking her head, "You prove me wrong." She leans into him, her lips seal over his.

He pulls her tighter, lifting her off the ground slightly, as his tongue dives deeper and their soft moans mix and blend together behind their teeth. His hands slip low into her back pockets and he squeezes the perfect rounds of her ass through the thin layer of cotton, chuckling as she moans a bit louder. He walks forward, practically carrying her, and starts to climb the stairs, eager to show her that he's fully capable of rocking her world when he's happy, too.

They're halfway up when his phone rings, and he whines and stomps his feet like a toddler. He's forced to pull one of his hands out of her pocket to answer the call, and the annoyance is clear in his voice when he does it. "Stabler," he spits. "Yeah, you are interrupting...what? Who?" He checks his watch. "Yeah, patch him through, thanks." He holds up a finger at the inquisitive face Olivia is making at him, and he furrows his brows when a new voice speaks. "Oh, thank God, when? Because this is...what? Uh...how did...yeah." He looks at Olivia, his face breaks into a smile. "I think I can make that happen. See ya soon, Cap."

"Cragen," she assumes, and she watches him hang up and shove his phone back into his pocket. "He's coming home?"

"Three days," he nods, and he tugs her toward their bedroom. His eyes flit down the hall and land on the door of the guest room for a moment, the nights they'd spent in that bed seem like a lifetime ago, they're different people, they've grown, changed, shifted, evolved. He moves with her and like a perfectly rehearsed play, pockets are emptied, phones are plugged into chargers, and clothes are peeled off between kisses and sweet whispers. They crawl into the canopy bed, wrap their naked bodies together, and he reaches over to turn off the lamp.

As they're settling, she props her head up on his chest. "What did he say to you? You said you could make something happen?"

He laughs, kisses her, and says, "He wanted to know if we were still together, and if we were...he told me to do something before he got back, because if I did it now, he couldn't stop me, and technically since he's not the captain at the moment, he couldn't fire us for it."

She raises an eyebrow, her lips turn up on one side, she drums her fingers on his chest. "Well? Do it."

He cranes his neck to kiss her and his hand drags down to her neck. He slips a finger under her gold chain, tugs on it until the gold pendant falls into his hand, and he whispers, "I already did."

**A/N: Next: Cragen comes home to some unexpected news, which also brings an end to all the rage. **


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: ****You are the witness of change, ****And to counteract, ****We gotta take the power back. ****(Rage Against the Machine)**

**DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler **

It's been a little over half an hour since he's walked in, no one has noticed him. He stands in the back, unassuming, watching the sqaudroom from a vantage point he never usually gets. He's stunned at the way Elliot barks out orders, respectfully firm, and the way everyone nods and listens without argument. Fin even slaps him in the arm on his way out of the room, the younger detectives salute, the uniformed rookies nod and call him sir.

He notices almost immediately that Olivia hasn't moved, she's been handed a stack of files and she starts rifling through them immediately, knowing what she's looking for, but staying in the room to look for it. His head turns, then, and he takes in the fresh coat of paint, the slightly newer chairs, and he grins as he crosses his arms. His attention is drawn back to the front of the room, near the door to his office, and he waits for an explosion. He watches. He waits. It never comes.

Elliot's harsh but necessary scolding fills the air, and Cragen can tell that the kid messed up, it cost them a life, and he cringes as he braces himself for an avalanche of Stabler's rage. Again, it never comes, and what is witnessed is Elliot throwing an arm around the kid, bringing him to the back of the room, dropping him into a desk, and whispering, "We've all been where you are. Question is how are you gonna handle it?" Cragen smiles remembering the exact moment when he said those exact words to Elliot.

"Yeah," Elliot sighs, and he turns on his heels, finally facing the man behind him. He narrows his eyes, Cragen seems to have aged twenty years in the last three months. "I remember every piece of advice you've ever given me, and I hear myself spouting it out more often these days." He chuckles and scratches at the start of a Five O'Clock shadow. "Welcome home."

"Starting to think I shouldn't have come back," Cragen says, and he's serious. He uncrosses his arms to shake Elliot's offered hand. "You seem to have things running like a well-oiled machine, here."

"Today," Elliot scoffs. "Figures, I finally get a handle on this whole 'captain' thing the day you come back," he laughs. "Your office awaits." He slaps the man on the back as they walk. "I put all your stuff in boxes, so don't get scared when you walk in and see the desk bare. I didn't want anyone going through it, or…"

"That case CompStat slammed on you," Cragen interrupts. "That's my fault, they're bogging me down with the consequences for that, so you may be keeping your captain pants on for the next few days." He turns and smiles. "And you," he says to Olivia, "Are a sight for sore eyes."

She smiles and hugs him back when he moves in, the action shocking her but welcome nonetheless. "We missed you around here," she says, and then she folds her arms loosely, a file still in one hand. "Not sure how much more of Captain Stabler I can take." She laughs and then shoots Elliot a wink. "Kidding."

"Sure, sure," he gives her a flattened smile. "You find anything?" he asks as he takes the file out of her hand.

Cragen holds up a hand before she can speak. "Can we just...take five, here? The three of us?"

Olivia shoots Elliot a concerned look, then watches him nod. She follows as Elliot leads the way toward the office, hiding a smug grin as she remembers what had happened in the room a few hours ago. "What's up, Cap?"

Cragen looks around, noticing that except for the cleared-off desk, everything is exactly where he left it. "You really didn't…"

"Not my office," Elliot cuts him off with a shrug and purposely sits beside Olivia in one of the visitor chairs. "Never will be. I used it for meetings, private phone calls," he licks his lips and tugs on his blue and grey checkered tie as he gives Olivia a sideways glance. "Came in here to calm myself down a couple of times."

She elbows him, shaking her head at him, and then turns her attention back to Cragen. Absently, she yanks on the hem of her shirt, pulls at the sides of her jacket, and she clears her throat. "We in some kind of trouble?"

"No, no, the exact opposite," Crage smiles softly, leans back and grips the edge of his desk as he kicks one foot over the other. "I can't tell you where I was, or what I was doing, but know that I spent every free second thinking about the two of you, wondering how I was gonna handle this when I got back, if I'd make you choose, make the choice for you…"

Elliot tilts his head and speaks up. "Is that why you told me to ask her if…"

"Did you?" Cragen asks fast, interrupting him. His fingers pull at his silver cufflinks, his feet shuffle against the tiles. He exhales when he sees Elliot nod. "I'm assuming she said yes?"

"Every time," Elliot answers, and he leans back and reaches out a hand toward Olivia's neck, swiping his fingers under her chain. He toys with the pendant, the gold medallion that once gave him solace, a lucky charm, a reason to come home in one piece when he was in the service. Now, it means all of that and more. Olivia is his solace, his lucky charm, and his reason to come home every night, he promised to always be faithful to her, in every single way, for the rest of his life. The emblem on the gold disc is identical to the one etched into his skin with the exception of one small inked addition. He smiles at the thought of the olive branch now living happily in the mouth of his tattooed eagle. "Semper Fi," he whispers to her, letting the medal drop back to her skin.

She raises an eyebrow. "Ooh-rah," she intones back to him, and then notices the confused look on Cragen's face. "Oh," she breathes, "He asks me every morning, just to make sure I haven't changed my mind."

"No ring?" Cragen asks, and then he points to Elliot. "Are we talking about the same question, here?"

Elliot laughs loudly and says, "Cap, uh, I didn't really think…" he cracks his knuckles as he folds his hands in his lap. "For one thing, that medal around her neck is more expensive and more meaningful than any ring I could ever afford to get for her, and, uh, no one is supposed to know, so a ring would raise too many questions we can't answer."

"Gonna be raising a lot of questions anyway," she says, and she looks at him with a darkness in her eyes, severe desperation, pleading with him to tell Cragen what they've been waiting to tell someone, anyone, everyone.

Elliot holds her steady gaze, his fingers move toward her necklace again, and he remembers the backward way everything had happened. He'd asked her to move in, then she bought the house, he'd asked her to have his child, they'd tried like hell, and the night he'd officially asked her to be his wife, they found out they'd been trying for nothing. "She's pregnant," he says, and it sounds so absurd that he has to turn to Cragen and ask, "Did I say that out loud? I've been thinking it, ya know, over and over, so I don't know if I actually said it."

"You said it," Cragen states, there's an unexpected coldness in his voice. His eyes are wide, his hands are gripping the desk so tightly that his knuckles are white. He doesn't know whether to whoop and holler or slap them both silly. "She's…" he turns to her, refusing to talk about her and not to her. "You're...having a...and it's his…" he breathes deeply and pulls the knot of his tie loose. "You're not lying to me, you're…"

"Do you wanna see the tests?" Elliot asks, one brow arched and his hands clasped over Olivia's. "She took six. I have pictures of them, I have to keep looking at them to convince myself it's real." He shakes his head and chuckles at himself. "It's like holding a winning lottery ticket in your hand. You keep thinking you're reading it wrong until you get the check," he babbles, and he moves knowing it's safe to kiss her.

Cragen smiles as he sees Elliot's hands hook around Olivia's stomach, his palms spread over her lower body protectively. "So this is what Tucker meant," he points to them. "He told me you've been different. Calmer. Happier. This...this is why."

"And, uh, therapy," Elliot admits, and he holds up a hand. "Don't look at me like that, I don't have a choice, but it actually…" he swallows hard and says, "Skoda isn't such a whack job after the first eight conversations." He leans back and again his free hand moves to his tie. He tugs it slowly and says "I work out a lot, and, uh, vent...in other ways." He licks his lips and thinks about how he doesn't yell and punch things in the box because he screams and slaps all he wants when he gets home. He doesn't fill Cragen in on that bit of information, though, he simply moves his right hand back to Olivia's left.

Cragen gives him a firm nod. "Good," he says, "You'll need a level head with a wife you can actually let yourself go toe to toe with, four kids, and a baby in the house." He points a finger at Olivia. "Speaking of which, you are, as of this moment…"

"I already benched her," Elliot interjects, "Ya know, um, as acting captain, it was well within my rights. She's strictly in-house, and we've already filed for leave, so in a couple of months…"

"How many months?" Cragen asks, and he straightens up and looks around the office. The frames on the wall have less meaning now, the folded cot in the corner tells him that Elliot did what he never could after Marge; moved on, started over, learned to love again, found himself. "Well?" he spins back around and shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Four," Elliot sighs, rubbing the back of his left hand over his forehead. "She's taking two before, I'm out a month later, we're planning on coming back…"

"Take the max," Cragen affirms, and he catches Elliot's eyes. "After she has the baby, I don't want to see either of you in this building for a full twelve weeks, paid, unless you're bringing the kid to see me." He laughs and then sighs, an elongated breath. "You deserve that." He glances at Olivia. "Both of you." He checks his watch. "Tucker's gonna be up here in ten minutes, I expect he'll yell at me for a while and then suspend me or something, so you two, get out of here while you can. If I can talk my way outta this, I'll see you in the morning, if not...Tucker will call you when he's done with me and you'll have to march your ass back here." He holds out a hand and when Elliot takes it, he says, "Take care of her."

"Always," he promises, it's easy to make because he makes it every day. He rushes, then, past Olivia, toward their desks, and he grabs their coats and his keys. He takes her hand and pulls her into the hallway, but he stops in front of the stairs. With narrow eyes, he tugs on her again, heading down the corridor, around a corner. He punches open the door to the gym and waves between machines and punching bags until he gets her into the locker room. "Right here," he says, leading her across the concrete floor toward the line of lockers, one of which is still dented and mangled. "This spot, right here."

"What, when you almost broke your hand the first time?" she jokes, but she sees the look in his eyes and bites her lip. She knows what it means. What he wants. "I give," she says, and she looks over her shoulder to make sure no one else is taking their break with a workout.

He watches her as she turns back to him and when she looks at him, he asks her, "How long have we been partners?"

She smirks, remembering, and she checks her watch, the timer in the corner blinking at her. "Three years," she says, "Five months, twenty-one days, fourteen hours, twelve minutes, thirty-nine seconds," she blinks once. "Forty seconds."

He grabs for her, both of his large, rough hands come to cup her face, he pulls her close to him. "So almost ten months ago...I stood right here...and asked you to help me figure out a way to control...everything, my whole life was falling apart and you...you put it all back together." He slides his hands down her neck, her arms, her sides, and he loops one hand behind her at the small of her back while the other rests over her belly button. "You've given me more than I deserve."

She wipes the crescents under his eyes with her thumbs and moves in for a kiss. Once her lips leave his, she whispers, "We deserve this. Together. You and me."

He lets out a strangled laugh and nods as he sniffles. "Yeah, yeah we do, after all the bullshit…" he sniffles again. "I saw standing right here when I told you that no matter how angry I got, I never raised a hand to my wife or kids, and I swear…" he lifts his eyes from her stomach to her strong gaze. "I never will." He smirks then. "Unless you ask for it," he adds.

Whether it's the look in his eyes or the words from his lips, she can't be sure, but it mixes with her hormones and she moves into him again. Her mouth slants over his, she nips and bites at his lower lip, and she whispers, "Make it hurt."

"Fucking Christ," he mumbles against her lips, and suddenly his hands are working to get her pants down, he can feel her tugging on his, and he's trying like hell to back them into the corner so if anyone walks in they won't be seen. It's not fueled by rage, but it's something else he has found that he cannot control. "God, get this fucking thing off," he garbles, her lip in his mouth, as he fights with the clasp of her belt as his body finally hits the cinder blocks in the corner of the room.

When her belt finally gives, she hears him grunt and tug, her pants drop to her ankles. She moans and tosses her head back, the way his mouth seals around her neck at the same moment he thrusts into her sends shocks through her. "Elliot," she whimpers, rocking into him, "Oh, God." She meets his eager body as he moves, his back against the stone wall. Her forehead drops to his. "So fucking good," she whispers to him.

He grunts as he pulls out of her and turns her around, and as he pushes her forward into the wall, he wraps his right hand in her hair. "Tell me," he demands, the words hit the back of her neck and he yanks on her hair hard. The palm of his left hand caresses one beautiful cheek of her ass and he says it again. "Tell me," he barks, and his fingers hit against her skin hard. He smirks when she yelps. He spreads her legs a bit, squeezes and grips her ass, and he moves forward again, pushing into her.

She drops her head back, it falls against his chest. "I love you," she says, and she backs her ass up as he thrusts. A delicious moan escapes when he slaps her again, he pulls her hair a bit harder, her smile broadens.

"Say it again," he orders, and he moves faster, harder, slipping his left hand around her waist. His right tightens in her hair and he pulls her head up straight, drags it toward his mouth. "Baby, I need to hear you say it again," he whispers.

His hot breath hits right into her ear, chills run down her spine, and she moans as she trembles against him, on the brink already due to her overly sensitive body and raging hormones. "I love you," she whispers. Her right arm curls back to wrap around his head, her nails drag through his short hair.

"I love you," he returns, the fingers of his left hand draw circles over her stomach as he tugs her hair enough to gain access to her lips with his. He kisses her as he thrusts harder, but slower, savoring this, bringing them to the place everything began, the same room, the same promise. "I love you," he says against her lips, and he feels her tighten, her nails dig into his scalp, he twists her hair until she whimpers into his mouth and he knows she's cumming.

She rides it out, slowly rocking against him, and she feels his muscles clench as he loosens his grip on her hair and slips his hand down, around to the front of her, between her legs. "Oh, God," she exhales.

He slips his fingers through her wet heat, finds her clit with ease, and slowly teases it as he thrusts slowly, deeply, bringing her up higher, farther, so when she cums again she'll take him with her. He feels it happening before he's ready, but then again, he's never ready to end it with her. "Fuck," he spits out the moment his body siezes in hers. "God, Liv," he growls. He drops his head to her shoulder blade, bites the first bit of flesh he comes in contact with, and shoots into her in a new rhythm. He feels her pulsing around him and moans in time with it, as if playing percussion in a rock band. "Baby," he breathes, his hands still caressing their respective bits of skin.

She moans lowly as her head falls back again, landing on his shoulder. "Hmm," she intones. "We're having a baby."

He holds her tighter, and he stays in her for a moment, he slides his right hand up to her chest, keeping his left over her stomach, and he swears he can feel two heartbeats under his touch. He tilts his head and smiles when he sees that she's tracing his tattoo with her fingertips, her left index trailing over the still-sore etching of the olive branch, the part of her that's permanently under his skin.

She closes her eyes and sighs, feeling him deftly moving and dragging both pairs of pants up at the same time. She turns and helps him with his while he tries to figure out how to relatch the clasp of her pants and belt. When they're settled, she looks at him and takes both of her hands in his. "No limits, no safewords," she says softly, and she kisses him just once, right on the lips, almost delicately. "And we wouldn't have it any other way. Am I right?"

He kisses her again and backs her away from the wall, out through the locker room, into the gym. "Absofuckinglutely," he says with a chuckle before kissing her again. For so many years of his life, he's been raging against a machine, set to self-destruct because he didn't have anywhere to turn when things had grown too intense. Now, in his arms, he has the solution, his saving grace, his fail-safe. She's his guidepost when he feels lost, his safe-house when he needs to hide from the world. She's his outlet, she calms him down when he panics about his mother's illness, she's there when he gets caught up in thoughts about his father, and he tries like hell to be everything for her. He knows he is, she tells him every day, and he thanks God for it all. He opens his mouth to tell her something he thinks she needs to hear, but his phone rings.

She sighs as he presses his lips to her forehead and she watches him answer the call as they head down the hallway. She stops when he does, and she knows that they're turning around. "Lemme guess," she cracks, "You're back on duty, Captain Stabler?"

"For the rest of the week," he tells her and he swats her in the ass playfully. "Has its advantages, though, doesn't it?" He winks at her.

As she laughs and walks with him, she asks, "You sure you can handle it? You're not gonna lose it on Richardson, are you?"

"No, baby," he straightens out his tie and walks with a bit more swagger in his step. "Trust me. I got it all under control."

**A/N: Sometimes when we least expect it, our emotions handle themselves. Thanks for hanging onto this one with me. The end.**


End file.
